Turnabout Family
by inkandpaperqwerty
Summary: Domestic abuse, murder in self-defense; it's an open and shut case, right? Miles Edgeworth thought so, but the evidence won't add up, and his experience tells him something is wrong. So, with the help of his rival, Phoenix Wright, he tries to separate truth from lies, all the while playing 'daddy' for the only witness, a child left with a broken home and a mother on trial.
1. Chapter 1

_Rain. How perfectly ironic._

Edgeworth snapped his umbrella shut, shaking water from the folds as he entered the dank apartment building. Cold, gray eyes travelled around the room, his brain already formulating theories and notes about a case he wasn't even sure he was going to take.

 _Tenants get their mail here, right in front of the lobby door. It wouldn't be difficult to observe them from the streets, and if a habit was formed, that would give the killer a reliable window of opportunity._ He turned to left, his gaze darting from crack to hole to mismatched paint and back again. _Money is almost definitely not a motive. I can't imagine anyone who lives in these conditions having something worth stealing._

"Hey! Don't touch _anything_ until Prosecutor Edgeworth gets here, pal!"

Edgeworth inclined his head towards the stairs, annoyance curling his lips into a frown, and he started the short trip to the second floor. _Hmm. If the killer was looking for a victim of opportunity, they would have chosen someone downstairs. It's unlikely every tenant on the ground level was gone at the time of the murder, so they must have been after a specific target._

Floorboards creaked as he walked, the wooden panels hidden somewhere beneath a layer of carpeting that was repulsive both aesthetically and bacterially. _Money was definitely not a motive._

He stopped when he got to the top of the flight, taking a moment to stare down the hall before actually stepping into the corridor. _Gumshoe said it was the second door on the right. It looks like the victim had a lot of neighbors…_ _someone had to have heard something, especially at two in the morning. There's no construction or heavy traffic to mask the sound of a gunshot._

It was cold with very few sources of light, he noted as he entered the apartment, and the general state of the dwelling was cluttered. Each footstep summoned a small puff of dust from the space around his shoes, and his scowl returned in full, eyes drifting around in search of any other clues the rather useless police department might have overlooked.

"Hey, Prosecutor Edgeworth, you're here!"

Edgeworth forced himself to acknowledge the familiar presence in the hall, fingers rising to rub the equally familiar sensation of a migraine forming behind his left temple. "Yes, of course. Tell me, Detective, did you or your men look for a distinct set of footprints in the dust, or did you trample all over the crime scene without paying attention to the tracks left behind?"

"Uh…"

Edgeworth sighed. "Never mind. Where is the body?"

"Well, sir…" Gumshoe rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish in that 'kicked puppy' sort of way that always accompanied a devastating blunder. "To be honest, I don't know if you needed to come out for this one. We've got it pretty much nailed. Our suspect is already down at the precinct, and most of the evidence is on its way to your office now."

Edgeworth arched a brow, not even trying to keep the irritation from his face. "You didn't think to call and tell me this _before_ I drove all the way out here in a miserable rainstorm?"

Gumshoe kept rubbing his neck, laughing nervously and looking at anything but Edgeworth's eyes. "I, uh, I didn't want you to talk and drive in the rain, you know…" He jumped then, a big grin parting his lips as he apparently remembered a redeeming feature to the situation. "This case is a lot less depressing then your usual cases, though!"

If there was ever a moment in time when Edgeworth had considered the man in front of him to be a relatively respectable human being, he recanted the thought immediately.

"It's a self-defense case. So, you know, there's not really a bad guy in this case. Or, I mean, there is. He's just, y'know, dead." Gumshoe laughed again, broad shoulders bouncing as he amused himself with his own little joke.

"Detective, _murder_ never bears good fruit." Edgeworth tapped his upper arm with his index finger, lecturing in a low, almost deadly tone of voice. "You would do well to remember that, especially given the fact that you're a detective. It is _your_ job to catch the criminals—not civilians. The fact that someone had to use self-defense is proof the department isn't doing its job."

Wincing, the detective flinched backwards and returned to rubbing his neck. "Oh, right, sir. Sorry, sir. I didn't think of it that way, sir."

Edgeworth struggled not to roll his eyes. "Clearly," he drawled. "Detective, simply answer me this: Is there anything I need to do right here, right now?"

"I didn't let the boys move anything in the bedroom. You can take a look—I figure it might be a bit better than pictures."

 _Finally, a shred of intelligence is shown._ Outwardly, a simple nod was all he offered, pushing past the detective, down the short hall, and into the master bedroom.

It looked like a classic murder scene inside. Jewelry scattered across the carpet, a small bookshelf toppled over, and a full-length mirror lying shattered on the floor; signs of a struggle, it would seem. Red splatters on the bedspread, the body of the husband sitting at the foot of the bed hunched over and somewhat stiff.

It _looked_ like a classic murder scene, but it wasn't.

 _This is wrong._ Edgeworth crouched down and took a glove from the inside of his coat, slipping it onto his hand and picking up the necklace closest to him. _Cheap._ He stood up and followed the angle of impact with his eyes, eventually winding up at the top of a dresser. _They're poor. It makes sense that she didn't have a jewelry box of any sort, but…_

Frowning, Edgeworth made a sweeping motion with his arm, trying to imagine fighting with someone while doing so. He turned around and did it backwards, pursing his lips. _I suppose it's possible. She grabbed the dresser for support while backing up and dragged the jewelry over the edge._

Approaching the mirror on the floor, Edgeworth fingered the mangled corner and looked at the sticker towards the bottom. _Wal-Mart. Cheap again, as I suspected._ He turned around to look at the bookshelf, scowling at the entire display for several seconds before abandoning it in favor of examining the body.

 _I'm no medical examiner, but I would say a single bullet wound to the chest was the cause of death. It probably didn't take long to die, if it took any time at all._ He leaned forward slightly and sniffed. _I'll be interested to find out exactly how drunk he was._ Standing back up, he looked down and made a few notes—clothing, hands, bloodstains—and then looked to the doorway. _He was shot here. But it was self-defense. Wouldn't this be a bit backwards?_

Turning his attention back to the toppled bookshelf, he tried to view it from a defense attorney's point of view. _Perhaps,_ he thought, and his inner monologue sounded an awful lot like Phoenix Wright. _Perhaps the husband was in enraged in his stupor and overturned the bookshelf. That might have made her feel threatened._ Then, a more cynical, familiar, Edgeworth-sounding voice replied, _Or it's an inexperienced attempt at fabricating signs of a struggle._

He would have to wait to hear the testimony in court. It wasn't as if the scenario was impossible, and he had seen cases with anti-stereotypical positions and methods before, but the scene as a whole was leaving an odd feeling in his gut. Depending on what the defendant claimed happened, they might reveal an unusual truth, or they might trip over their own lies for lack of criminal knowledge.

"Gumshoe." Edgeworth stepped away from the corpse and peeled his glove off, dropping it into the detective's hand. "Did Wright take the case?"

Taking the trash much too enthusiastically, Gumshoe shook his head. "Nope. He said he was sick."

 _That's wrong, too._ As incredibly irritating as it was for the prosecutor, his childhood friend would fight for anybody's innocence, rain or shine, rich or poor, health or literal deathbed. _I'll give him a call._

"I take it the trial is tomorrow?"

Gumshoe gave a single nod.

"Well, have you talked to any of the neighbors? Did any of them hear or see anything tonight?" It was difficult, after all, for a prosecutor to prosecute without at least one witness. Not that he couldn't do it—because he most certainly could—but he wasn't exactly hoping for such a situation to occur.

"Nobody was home tonight, so we got nothing out of the neighbors."

"Nobody? There was not a single person in the entire apartment complex who heard or saw anything?" Edgeworth frowned, disliking the situation a little more with every second that passed, but he eventually offered a reluctant nod. "I see."

"Yeah, I thought it was weird, too. But the kid saw everything, so I think we're alright for witnesses."

There was a beat of silence, Edgeworth's brain taking that instant to jump the gap Gumshoe had left in his details.

"There was a _child_ in the house?" Edgeworth rubbed at his head more aggressively, trying not to raise his voice. "He saw _everything,_ and you waited until _now_ to tell me?"

"Well… uh… it didn't come up, I guess?"

 _Heaven help me._ Edgeworth once again pushed past his incredibly unhelpful partner and looked in the neighboring room. _Yes, that would definitely be the bedroom of a child._ But it was empty, so Edgeworth kept walking, moving through the living room and into the dining room and kitchenette area.

"C-Can I see Daddy now?"

That was the first thing Edgeworth clearly heard the boy say, and it brought entirely too many unwanted memories to the front of his mind.

"I w-wanna see my daddy… please, let me go, I wanna go to Daddy…"

"I know, sweetheart, but you can't right now."

Edgeworth cleared his throat to get the officer's attention and, once she looked up at him, gestured to the boy on her lap. "I need to speak with him about what he saw tonight."

The woman tensed, arms tightening slightly in a protective embrace. "He's barely managing to stay out of shock. He doesn't need to be questioned right now."

Edgeworth arched a brow and crossed his arms over his chest, his expression clearly showing his displeasure. "The Initial Trial System ensures a three-day trial that starts the day after the crime is committed. Furthermore, the longer I wait, the less reliable my only witness' testimony is going to be. I need to get his statement before he begins to forget the details, so I apologize, but I do not have the time or inclination to wait."

She opened her mouth to object, but Gumshoe's booming voice cut her off.

"Hey, pal, Prosecutor Edgeworth needs evidence so he can… uh, be Prosecutor Edgeworth. If he doesn't have a testimony, he can't prosecute, and then he would just be plain old Edgeworth."

 _That is so far from correct I don't even know where to begin._ Still, it was effective enough, and with a begrudging glare, the woman turned her attention to the weeping boy on her lap and tried to soothe him.

"Arthur, this man is going to ask you some questions about what happened tonight. We really need you to try and answer them. Do you think you can give it a shot?"

Rubbing his eyes and sniffing, the blonde gave a timid nod and a mumbled, "Mhm."

Edgeworth gave a slight nod in her direction, understanding her perspective but unable to summon enough sympathy to risk losing evidence, and then he knelt in front of the chair and held out his hand. "Hello. My name is Miles Edgeworth. Arthur, was it?"

The boy took the hand and gave it a week shake, one arm still traveling back and forth across his eyes and nose. "Arthur Coleman, fourth grade, 522 Del Monte Street. My daddy's cell phone number is (714) 547-3339."

Edgeworth pursed his lips slightly and nodded his approval of the information, taking a few mental notes on the compulsive answer and its format. "Thank you. That's very helpful, Arthur. Now—"

"You're welcome," the boy sniffed.

Edgeworth wet his lip and nodded again, this time slower, slightly peeved by the interruption. "Right... Can you tell me what happened here tonight?"

"Um…" Arthur sniffed and dragged his hands over his face again, a few more sobs shaking his shoulders before he managed some words. "Um, Daddy came home acting funny, and… and Mom told him not to do that anymore, so… so she…" He blinked rapidly, fresh tears welling up in his glassy blue eyes and pouring down over his cheeks. "She said t-to hide under the bed, and… and she told him to leave, or she would call the 9-1-1 people… and then it got really loud and… noisy and… and then there was a big b-bang-g, and everything got r-really q-quiet-t and…"

Edgeworth knew as soon as the boy began to stutter through entire words that he had gotten all he could, and his theory was confirmed the moment Arthur burst into tears. He stood up and gave the child some space, leaving him to the attentive officer and turning back to look at his barely redeemable partner.

"Did you get all of that?"

Gumshoe nodded, entirely too proud of the meager accomplishment, and handed over a notepad. "Here you go, sir!"

Edgeworth took the booklet in hand and skimmed the contents. The punctuation and spelling were atrocious, but Gumshoe had taken notes about the body language and emotional reactions, which the prosecutor knew would be helpful.

"Perfect." _Mostly._ "I suppose we'll have to wait and see how the defense pleads tomorrow before we can do much more in the realm of investigation." Sighing, the prestigious prosecutor tucked the notes into his jacket and returned his arms to their usual place upon his chest. "How I loathe the first day of a trial."

Gumshoe laughed, a bit nervously but a bit pleased, too. "I know you do, sir, but the paperwork and the forensic testing takes time."

"I know that," Edgeworth snapped. "It's simply inconvenient for me. Besides, I was mostly talking about not knowing what case I need to argue for or against until I'm there." Not that he expected Gumshoe to understand, but some things deserved and explanation regardless of the audience and its intelligence—or lack thereof.

"Well, I don't see much more I can do here, so I am going home to get a good night's sleep. I will see you in the morning, Detective."

"Goodnight, Prosecutor Edgeworth!"

Edgeworth had already begun to walk away, and the farewell was met with an absent-minded, off-handed, over-the-shoulder wave. His thoughts were already back at his office, organizing the evidence and contemplating the many possible ways the defense could spin things.

"Uh, Gumshoe, what do you want us to do with the kid?"

Edgeworth's pace slowed, and he turned back towards the kitchen, rolling his eyes when Gumshoe shrugged. _Completely out of answers, per the usual._

"I dunno, pal. We can't find any living relatives in the area, and we can't hand him over to an orphanage until the mom is convicted." Gumshoe laughed. "I mean, it's not like one of us can just take him home."

"Uh, actually…"

Edgeworth saw Gumshoe's gaze shift seconds after the voice of a young male was heard, and he silently urged the two of them to hurry up and come to a conclusion so he could leave.

"If the precinct is too full, or in a sensitive case like this, someone with legal authority can take them home until the state knows what to do with them. Once the Initial Trial System went into effect, several states adopted a legislation to cut out complications involving minors so trials could still be completed in three days' time."

There was a moment of silence, the policemen all exchanging glances.

"Hey, don't look at me, pal. I can barely afford instant noodles for one person!"

"I don't think my wife would take that kind of a surprise too well..."

"My apartment's way too small. I wouldn't have any place to put him."

The excuses were passed around from person to person until there was no one left, and Edgeworth's hand slowly travelled up to pinch the bridge of his nose. _Can anyone in this entire bloody unit accomplish anything at all?_

"Gumshoe," Edgeworth started, already regretting the words he had yet to speak. "How long would the boy need to be in the custody of a legal authority?"

"Oh, just until the trial's over, sir!" Gumshoe laughed, and then he started to scratch his neck again. "I think."

Scowling, the prosecutor snapped his fingers and demanded an attentive response. "I do not have the time for uncertainty, Detective, and the police do not have time to babysit a witness. I need a definitive answer, and I need it now."

There were scattered murmurs from the kitchen as the other policemen were consulted, and then Gumshoe nodded. "Definitively just until the trial's over, sir!"

Edgeworth cringed. "Definitively isn't… you can't… oh, never mind." Sighing, he gestured towards the kitchen and gave another snap of his fingers. "Send him out. I'll take him home with me."

Gumshoe stared, jaw dropping and eyes popping out in that irritatingly comical way they often did. "What? You, sir?"

Edgeworth simply shrugged his shoulders. "It's convenient, and he's just a child. How hard can it be?"

Gumshoe threw his head back and began to laugh, the policewoman from before maneuvering the boy between the detective and the wall before giving the prosecutor a deadly glare.

Edgeworth stared back, unfazed. He knew he wasn't the best with children, and he didn't understand a single thing about them to be sure, but it was only three days. He was hardly going to beat the kid or let him starve, and honestly, what more was there to child-rearing than that?

"You guys know I'm standin' right here, right?"

Edgeworth looked down and spied a trouble young boy shaking with some odd combination of anger and grief. He spied a traumatized, nine-year-old witness to murder who was rebuking the adults' refusal to include him while simultaneously flinching away from his new guardian in fear.

 _Perhaps I've bitten off more than I can chew…_

"Well, why don't you stop standing there and march on down to the car instead?"

 _No, that's ridiculous. If I can handle adults, I can handle children. They can't be that different. Everything is going to be just fine._

However, as he followed Arthur out of the apartment, Edgeworth noted with no small amount of unease that Gumshoe had yet to stop laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come along, and don't trip over the rug."

Edgeworth stepped into his home and shed his coat, hanging it on the nearby rack before turning around and holding out a hand. He stopped immediately, realizing with a bit of embarrassment that the boy had no jacket. In fact, they had left the apartment without packing any of the boy's belongings whatsoever.

"We'll have to go back to the apartment tomorrow morning before the trial." Which meant he had to wake up earlier. Fantastic. "You can't very well go without clothes."

"I could'a told you that," the boy muttered.

Edgeworth gave the boy a sideways glance, steely hues narrowing slightly. "Then why didn't you?"

Arthur shrugged with nonchalance, but there was still some of that bite in his tone when he replied. "You never asked."

Edgeworth stared at the child for a moment, contemplating how to proceed, and then crouched down in front of his charge. "Arthur, I am going to tell you something that will, hopefully, make your stay very enjoyable: I am always, entirely, irrevocably, and unconditionally in charge, and I don't have the time or patience for an attitude." He stood up and adjusted his shirt, looking down his nose at his troublesome houseguest. "You didn't have a coat to keep you warm, and now you don't have pajamas to wear to bed, all because you decided to be petty. You are essentially sabotaging yourself, and while that doesn't directly affect me, it is ever so irksome, and I won't stand for it. Understand?"

Arthur pouted and mumbled an angry, "No."

Edgeworth scowled, disapproval darkening his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said no," Arthur shot back, speaking as if Edgeworth were the dumbest person on the planet. "I don't even know half the words you used. How'm'I supposed to understand what you said? What, did'ja swallow a dictionary or something?"

Edgeworth went to pinch the bridge of his nose, as he often did when frustrated, but his fingers never made contact. Instead, they stopped halfway into the trip, frozen midair by the disturbing sight of Arthur physically _recoiling_ in fear.

"I was going for my nose." Later, Edgeworth was certain he would look back and lament how utterly stupid he sounded and no doubt looked. "I wasn't going to hit you. I would never hit you." _I shouldn't have to make such a promise._

Arthur watched him, all defiance gone from his eyes and replaced by fresh tears and fear. He swallowed thickly, chewed on his lip, and didn't relax in the slightest.

Edgeworth dropped his arm back down and met the anxiety with curiosity and suspicion, his mind taking the revelation and running a thousand different directions with it.

 _He fears abuse, but abuse was never mentioned as being a part of this case. Not physical abuse, anyway. I imagine there was a fair amount of verbal abuse going on in that household…_ Edgeworth creased his brow, still thinking, vaguely aware of Arthur watching him with a bewildered look on his face. _It's possible the defendant's motive wasn't protecting herself, but rather, her son._

"Mr. Edgeworth…?"

"Arthur, what kind of clothing do you have?" the prosecutor asked suddenly, once again getting down on the boy's level. "Do you have a suit or dress pants?"

Biting his lip, Arthur shook his head. "No… I never needed one before."

Edgeworth sighed and thought for a movement, contemplating the situation before finally relenting to the most obvious option. "I'll have to take you shopping, then. We won't be able to get it done before tomorrow's trial, but we'll go afterwards and have something for the next two days."

Arthur chewed on his lip some more, stuffing his hands in his pockets and pulling his head down between his shoulders, almost like a turtle. "But I like these pants."

"Well, you can't wear the same pair of pants three days in a row." Edgeworth unlaced his shoes and took them off as he spoke, and then he stood up and walked into the living room, pulling the guard from the fireplace and trying to remember where he had stored his matches. "You can't wear the same shirt, either."

"Mom let me," was all the boy said, lingering in the archway with that same, confused mix of hostility and timidity in his red-rimmed eyes. "I don't wanna change clothes."

Edgeworth turned his head sharply and gave the boy a stern look. "Arthur, what did I just get done telling you?"

Shuffling his feet, the boy chewed on his lip a little more. "That you're in charge," he sighed, eyes downcast.

"That's right." Edgeworth nodded his head and returned his attention to the fireplace. "You can come in, you know. Just take your shoes off and leave them by the door."

Arthur took a breath as if he was going to speak, but he never got the chance.

Pess came barreling down the stairs, barking joyously, and the sound brought a smile to Edgeworth's face. She was always the best part of coming home, her shining eyes and wagging tail always doing wonders to erase the horrors of the day.

Arthur, evidently, had a different perspective.

When he saw the Australian Shepherd come around the corner, he screamed and darted across the room, nearly tackling Edgeworth to the ground and shouting in his face.

"Get it away! Get it away! Pick me up, hurry! Hurry!"

Edgeworth buffered, lost in the sudden hysteria, and it wasn't until Pess came close enough to trigger another terrified scream that he jumped into action.

"Pess, sit." Grunting, Edgeworth pushed himself off of the floor with one hand while the other remained wrapped around the screaming, once again crying young boy. "Arthur, calm down. Calm _down,_ Arthur, she won't hurt you. She is perfectly tame."

"I don't l-like dogs," the boy blubbered. "I don't like them, please get it away. I don't like dogs, I really don't like dogs."

"Well—" the attorney stalled again, at a loss for words, "—what would you like me to do about that?"

Arthur buried his face in Edgeworth's shoulder and held on tight. "I don't know, I don't know, I just don't like them!"

Edgeworth took a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts, looking around the room and processing the quickly growing list of things to deal with. There were dirty shoeprints on his cream-colored carpeting, and the shoes themselves were now kicking against his legs. There was snot on his suit, Pess needed fed, Arthur was terrified, and there was still no fire in the fireplace.

"Wait a minute, I need to think." Edgeworth stepped over to the couch and attempted to put the boy down. "Just sit here a minute."

"No, I don't want to!" Arthur cried, wrapping his legs around the attorney's waist and hanging on for dear life. "Don't put me down!"

"Arthur, this is ridiculous. She isn't going to come near you, so just—"

"No, no, no, don't put me down, don't put me—"

Edgeworth finally managed to wrestle the boy off of himself and onto the couch, catching his flailing ankles before the muddy shoes could do any more damage. "You need to calm down."

"Pick me back up," the little boy wailed, reaching out and pulling desperately at the burgundy suit. "Pick me up!"

Edgeworth grabbed the boy's wrists and pulled them from his lapels. "Arthur, _enough._ " It wasn't quite a yell, but it was as close as he had gotten to one with the boy, and it was effective.

Arthur froze on the spot, still whining and sniffing and whimpering but no longer acting as though the couch was going to electrocute him.

"Good." Edgeworth blew his bangs out of his eyes and quickly wrestled the shoes off. "Just sit here a minute. I'm going to put these by the door. Pess isn't going to hurt you."

Arthur didn't seem to take even the slightest bit of comfort in those words, but he still didn't move from the couch.

Edgeworth shook his head and walked out to the foyer, placing the sneakers by his own footwear and then returning to the train wreck his living room had become. "Now, I need to clean up these footprints before the stains set, and then I'm going to make a fire to warm you up. Pess will be in the kitchen eating, so there is _nothing_ to worry about."

Arthur gnawed on his lip and said nothing.

"If you keep that up, you're going to hurt yourself."

Arthur didn't move, didn't speak, didn't respond in any way—but he kept chewing.

Edgeworth sighed. _He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. I suppose I'll have to get some chapstick for him as well._ But he couldn't think about that now. He had floor stains and a hungry puppy and a cold child to deal with, so he walked into the adjacent kitchen and called Pess after him.

 _I think it's safe to say this is not as easy as I thought it would be._

Still, he had made a commitment, and he was determined to see it through. It was difficult but not undoable, and even if it was, Edgeworth had always enjoyed a good challenge.

Returning to the living room with the necessary cleaning supplies, the prosecutor knelt down and sprayed the dark spots on the floor, glancing up every few seconds to see if Arthur was still crying.

He was.

Edgeworth groaned internally, and externally his hand came up to massage his aching forehead. "Arthur, there is _nothing_ to be afraid of. Nothing. I promise."

Arthur hiccupped, holding his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around them. "S-so?" He wiped his face with his sleeve and sniffed loudly. "I'm still scared."

Pressing the paper towels into the floor, Edgeworth tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. "I don't understand that. How can you be scared of nothing?"

"I don't know!" the child whined exasperatedly. "Haven't you ever been scared of something stupid?"

Edgeworth opened his mouth to respond but then stopped. _Oh._

Elevators. Perfectly benign, perfectly safe, used by millions of people every day, and yet he couldn't set foot in one. He was too afraid—too afraid of nothing—and when he thought about it that way, it made a little more sense.

"Well, I might be afraid of something harmless, but I have good reason for it." That was a rationalization, and he knew it, but he didn't like the thought of losing an argument with a nine year old.

"Well," the boy huffed, his words long and drawn-out, saturated with something like desperation or pleading. "So do _I_."

Edgeworth arched a brow. "Really?"

Arthur nodded vigorously, still curled up in a little ball on the couch.

"What reason do you have, then?"

"I…" Arthur sniffed and dragged his arm over his eyes again. "I used to have one…"

"You used to have a dog?" Edgeworth questioned, frowning slightly. "So, you used to like them."

Arthur nodded. "Yeah. His name was Maelstrom. Daddy named him, not me. I wanted to call him Blackie, 'cause he was back all over."

Edgeworth nodded his head, gathering up the used napkins and dropping them in the nearby trash can. "Ah, I see. Very original."

"Thanks," Arthur said, missing the sarcasm entirely. "He was… he was the best dog ever… until he got sick…"

"Did he die?"

It wasn't until he saw Arthur's face crumble that he realized he had chosen the wrong question, wrong words, and wrong tone to use.

"Oh, uh, I apologize. I didn't mean to upset you further, I…" He shook his head, trying to physically eject the thought from the room. "Just, ah, just tell me what happened."

Arthur sniffled and rested his head on his knees. "He got really sick… and he came after me. He bit me, and… he dragged me around the yard, and… and everything hurt all over. I had to go to the hospital, and they gave me shots, and then I had to get shots at home, too. Then Maelstrom had to go to sleep, and…" He shrugged, unable to voice the rest of his perspective on the story.

Edgeworth pressed his lips together in a tight line and offered a few stiff nods. "Rabies. That would certainly do it."

Arthur didn't say anything, and Edgeworth wasn't sure how to continue the conversation. Honestly, he wasn't sure if he should attempt anymore conversation, given the luck he had had so far. But he couldn't _not_ speak with the boy for three days straight, especially if he wanted to get an idea of what really happened in the apartment.

"Arthur," he started, keeping his voice soft and sitting on the floor in front of the couch. "I have never spent any time with children before. I am… I have difficulty understanding how other people feel. I am very logical, and… well, never mind that. I am trying to say I shouldn't have disregarded your fear just because I don't share it. I will try and do the best I can taking care of you, but I don't exactly know what I'm doing, so I have to ask that you be patient with me." He paused for a second, watching the boy slowly lift his head and make eye contact. "Do you think you can do that, Arthur?"

Yet another round of sniffling and eye-wiping, and then the blonde gave a timid jerk of the head. "Y-yeah. Yeah, okay."

Edgeworth gave the boy a small smile, something that required quite a bit of effort on his part, and then he got to his feet again. "I still have to feed Pess and get a fire going. Are you hungry?"

Arthur shook his head almost immediately, which made Edgeworth suspect he wasn't telling the truth, but the prosecutor didn't press the issue. He had to get his house in order before he could even think about starting another debate with an emotionally unstable child.

 _We got off to a rough start, but I think I can still do this._

He could almost hear Phoenix shouting from the other side of the city.

 _"_ _Objection!"_

* * *

"Are you still cold?"

Arthur looked at the man sitting on the other end of the couch and shook his head. Mr. Edgeworth smiled at him and returned to his book, immediately engrossed in its pages. Arthur watched him for a moment or two, and then he hugged his knees a little tighter and turned his gaze towards the fire.

He liked Mr. Edgeworth. Maybe not as much as he liked his English teacher, Miss Penelope, but he still liked him. He was kinda mean and kinda scary, but he was also kinda confused and kinda dorky.

 _Yeah, he definitely don't know what he's doing._ Arthur grinned a little to himself and hid his lips behind his kneecaps, wrinkling his nose at the mild odor. _They're starting to smell funny… but Mom's not here to do the laundry… I don't want new clothes. I don't like changing clothes._

Something wet and cold touched his foot, and he jumped, freezing in terror when he realized it was the large dog sniffing him. He glanced to the left, but Mr. Edgeworth was still lost in his book, and Arthur observed the dog in helpless terror.

 _Go away. Go away, go away, go away! I don't like you, go away!_

Pess put her head on the couch cushion, not touching him but coming close, and looked up at him with a soft whine.

Arthur swallowed thickly, watching the dog for several moments before slowly extending a shaky hand. He touched the top of her head—her fur was so soft, not like his dog's had been, and he wondered why—and pet her a few times before drawing his hand in close.

"There," he whispered. "I pet you. Now, go away."

Pess whined again, pressing her wet nose against his foot.

"Pess, leave him." Mr. Edgeworth's cool voice rose from behind the hardback. "Arthur, if you pet her, you're only going to encourage her."

Arthur didn't say a word, chewing on his lip and watching as Pess unhappily removed her head from the couch and padded over to her master.

Smiling softly, Mr. Edgeworth reached out a hand and stroked her black and white and tan fur. She closed her eyes and wagged her tail, clearly pleased by the attention, and Arthur couldn't help but miss his own dog.

 _But dogs are scary. I don't like them._

Mr. Edgeworth chuckled softly and returned to his book, leaving Pess to whine a little more before walking back to the fireplace and curling up on the floor.

Arthur watched her from his spot on the couch, smiling and giving her a little wave. Because she really was pretty, and she wasn't nearly as scary from a distance as she was up close.

 _Maybe this won't be so bad._

But then he remembered the trial. He remembered how Mr. Edgeworth had to try and put his mom in jail, and he remembered why she was on trial in the first place. He remembered coming around the corner and seeing his father on the floor, limp and bloody, with his mother standing over him. He remembered her grabbing his arm so hard it began to bruise, and he remembered her hitting his back and sides as she told him _exactly_ what to tell the cops when they came.

"What on Earth are you crying about now?"

"I'm sorry," the boy responded on instinct alone, teeth closing tightly around his lip where, as Mr. Edgeworth predicted, the skin had begun to break and bleed.

There was a moment of silence, and then the couch cushions shifted. He covered his head and screwed his eyes shut, waiting to see what would happen, but the only thing that came his way was a gentle hand on his leg.

"Arthur, you don't need to apologize for crying. I…" Mr. Edgeworth sighed, and when Arthur spared a glance, he was looking up at the ceiling and moving his mouth in a silent struggle to find the right word. "I told you, I have a hard time…"

Arthur sniffed, watching as the man continued to fight with himself, his little heart pounding against the inside of his heavily bruised ribcage.

Letting out a sigh of defeat, Mr. Edgeworth dropped his gaze and looked down at their laps. "I was raised in a very strict household. Sometimes, I just… respond to things without thinking, in the way that I'm accustomed—that I'm _used_ to."

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, alternating between that and his lips, toes wiggling as he fidgeted anxiously on the couch. "You… you, too?"

Mr. Edgeworth gave him a tight-lipped smile and a stiff nod. "Me, too."

Arthur didn't say anything for a moment, wondering what the lawyer expected from him, and then he begged a hesitant question. "You won't… you won't hit me? Even if I deserve it?"

Edgeworth opened his mouth quickly, but then he stopped, changing his answer before continuing. "No, I won't. I would never do that, and… please don't describe yourself as deserving a beating, alright?"

Arthur didn't understand the request, but he nodded anyways. Mr. Edgeworth had just promised not to hit him, and while there was always a chance he was lying, there was also a chance he wasn't, and Arthur would do anything to get the second option.

Well, actually…

"Do you _promise_ not to hit me, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Giving him that same, half-forced, half-nervous smile, Mr. Edgeworth nodded. "I promise not to hit you. I promise I will never, ever hit you, Arthur."

Arthur stared at him for a long time, and then he slowly nodded his head, still chewing on his lips, though he had graduated to the upper one instead of the lower. "Okay…"

"You really do need to break that nervous habit of yours. Look, you're getting blood on your face, and soon they'll be chapped and dehydrated."

"Sorry…"

Mr. Edgeworth let out a quiet sigh and shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. "It's alright, Arthur. I say that for your benefit, not mine. We'll get you some chapstick tomorrow, alright?"

Arthur nodded again, pulling at the fabric of his pants and blinking hard against the burn in his eyes. "Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Yes?"

Swallowing, the boy forced himself to breach the awful topic, not wanting to hear the answer but knowing he needed to. "Do you… do you have to put my mom in jail?"

Mr. Edgeworth sobered immediately. "If your mother did nothing wrong, then she won't go to jail. But if she did, I will find out, and then she will. It has to be that way, otherwise more people could wind up being hurt."

"But what about me?" Arthur blurted the words out before he could stop himself. "What about me getting hurt? I… I don't wanna go away to foster care… I wanna stay here, with my school, and my friends…"

Mr. Edgeworth's face was blank for a few more moments, and then he sighed softly. "I know. We'll have to wait and see. Things will work out in the end."

"Do you promise that, too?"

"…no, sadly, I can't promise that one. But I think there is a very high probability of it happening."

Arthur creased his brow. "Um, what… what does that mean?"

"It means… it's very likely. There is a very good chance things will work out in the end."

"Oh." Arthur pursed his lips. "Well, I guess that's better than there not being a good chance."

But Mr. Edgeworth couldn't promise, and that meant there was a chance things could go wrong. There was a chance his mother would wind up in jail. There was a chance he would wind up alone.

And Arthur couldn't wind up alone. He just _couldn't._

* * *

Edgeworth glanced up from his book as the clock struck midnight. He sighed heavily, returning to the pages and finishing the last paragraph of the chapter before placing a bookmark in the novel and setting it on the cushion to the far end.

"Well, Arthur, I think it's about time for you and I to—"

Edgeworth stopped when he realized the young boy was already asleep, his arm hanging over the edge of the couch while the rest of him remained curled up against the arm of the sofa. Pess was lying on the ground, watching the sleeping child as if she thought her eyes alone could protect him from all unseen threats and monsters.

Chuckling softly, Edgeworth stood up and stretched, wincing when he heard a pop in his lower back. Relieving thought it was, the sound would always make him feel undignified and a tad disgusted.

"Come on, Pess. It's bedtime."

Pess jumped to her feet and headed for the stairs, disappearing onto the second floor, where the bedrooms were. Edgeworth couldn't help but smile as he watched her run, and then again when he saw Arthur's sleeping face.

 _So peaceful… so non-verbal…_

And significantly less fearful.

Edgeworth leaned down and, after some deliberation, figured out how to get the boy into his arms. He went to the fireplace and replaced the guard with one hand, wanting to ensure the smoldering embers didn't find their way onto the carpet. Then, with one last look around the room to confirm everything was in order, he flicked off the lights and made his way up the steps and into the hall.

Silently, he entered the guest bedroom and approached the bed, pulling back the bedsheets and laying Arthur on the mattress as carefully as he could. He stepped back and looked the boy over, trying to think if there was anything he missed.

 _He doesn't have pajamas, but I can't do anything about that. He shouldn't need a nightlight because he's already asleep. He didn't wash up or brush his teeth, but again, he's already asleep. He can do that in the morning._

Satisfied with the state his troublesome little guest was in, he walked to the door and cast one more look over his shoulder before turning off the light and pulling the door shut behind him.

 _This is wrong._ It was the thought that had been popping in and out of his head all night, ever since he examined the crime scene. It was the nagging feeling that had been eating away at his brain from the moment he met Arthur to the moment he was in.

 _This is wrong._

Edgeworth entered his bathroom and went over to the sink, grabbing his toothbrush and wetting the bristles as his brain continued its attempt to piece together the events of the evening.

 _He said he didn't want to be taken away because he didn't want to leave his friends and his school. He didn't seem concerned about not being with his mother at all._ Brush. _He refers to his father as 'Daddy' but refers to his mother as 'Mom.' That is exactly opposite of how it should be._ Spit. _In fact, if I recall correctly, and I'm sure I do, he was calling for his father. He didn't mention wanting his mother at all, which is also the opposite of how it should be. He should have, at the very least, been asking for both of them._ Brush. _What was that little rehearsed introduction he gave me? Name, address, and… 'Daddy's' cell phone number._ Spit. _If his father was a deadbeat, the mother would have taught him to tell people her number when he was lost. Why didn't she? Again, at the very least, he should have both memorized._ Gargle. _He said he didn't like dogs, but what he meant to say was that he was afraid of them. Did he mention not liking anything else?_ Rinse. _He doesn't like changing pants. No, wait… he said he likes his pants, but he said he doesn't like changing clothes. If saying he doesn't like something is his subconscious way of saying he is afraid something, why would he be afraid of changing his clothing?_

Edgeworth spit one last time and braced his arms against the counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror as if he thought the double might offer a piece of advice. Because he really didn't have any evidence to back up those little psychological tics—nothing to prove they were associated with the case at all—and without evidence, it didn't mean much.

 _But I do know one thing._

His expression darkened slightly, hard lines drawn across his face by sheer determination.

 _Something about this case is wrong. Very, very wrong._

* * *

Edgeworth awoke suddenly to the sound of a loud thump down the hall, his bleary eyes searching frantically for the clock on his dresser. _2:37._ He had fallen asleep not twenty minutes prior, his overly active brain keeping him awake regardless of how quiet, dark, and peaceful his bedroom was.

"What on Earth…?"

Throwing the sheets back, he swung his legs out of bed and crept towards the door, pressing his ear against the wood and waiting to see if the sound came again.

Silence.

Edgeworth frowned, turning his head to look over his shoulder and seeing Pess on the foot of the bed. It couldn't have been her knocking something over, and it definitely wasn't himself, so that left two options.

"M-Mr. Edgewooorth!"

Edgeworth threw the door open immediately, sticking his head into the hallway and answering the distressed call. "Arthur? Is that you?" He squinted towards the end of the hall, trying to make out the boy's figure in the darkness.

Something collided with his waist, and Edgeworth jumped, instinctively backing up to put space between himself and the unknown. Little hands grasped at his shirt, pulling on the fabric while the boy wailed into his stomach.

"Arthur, calm down." Edgeworth lowered himself to his knees, trying to look at the boy's face but finding himself enveloped in a hug. "Arthur, calm down, and tell me what the problem is."

Arthur kept on crying, shaking against his guardian but offering no explanation as to why.

"Do you feel sick? Do you need a nightlight?" Edgeworth tried again to get the boy to look at him. "Couldn't find the bathroom?"

The sobbing continued unhindered.

"Arthur, tell me what the problem is, or I will go right back to bed and leave you out here to cry."

"No!" Arthur tried to go one step further and wrap his legs around Edgeworth as well. "No, don't go back to bed."

"Then tell me what the problem is," the attorney repeated. "For goodness' sake, I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

Arthur pulled away just slightly, pulling his arm up to wipe away his tears. "I—had a bad dream about—Daddy and—and Mom." He hiccupped in between the words, rubbing furiously at his face and successfully smearing the tears and snot all over himself.

"First of all, stop that. You only have one shirt, you know, and you're making quite a mess of it." Edgeworth stood up and pulled the boy into the room with him, fetching a tissue box from the dresser and handing it to him. "Second of all, I want you to take a deep breath and try to calm down. Getting hysterical over a dream will not make it go away." _Trust me, I know._ But he didn't say that, he simply put a hand on Arthur's head and waited for the boy to follow instructions.

Arthur sniffled and brought the tissue up to his nose. "O-okay…" He blew once, twice, thrice… and then a dozen or so more times. He pulled tissue after tissue from the box, wiping his face and muffling his cries in wads of white paper.

"Uh… there, there." Edgeworth reached out and hesitantly pat his head. "It's alright."

"I w-want my daddy…"

Edgeworth sighed softly. "I know, but I'm afraid I can't help you with that."

Arthur didn't say anything. Instead, he grabbed another handful of tissues and buried his face in them, crying quietly and blowing his nose in between staggered gasps for air.

 _I don't know what to do._

That was an understatement. Edgeworth had been plagued by nightmares every night since his father was murdered, and even after nearly twenty years, he still didn't have a truly reliable or healthy method for dealing with them.

"C-can I… can I s-sleep with you, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth opened his mouth, but nothing came out right away. "Uh…"

"Please?" Arthur hiccupped, blinking the tears from his eyes and peering up at the prosecutor imploringly. "I-I don't like being alone…"

 _There's that use of the word 'like' again._ He could hardly send the boy back to bed knowing how terrified he would be, and it was an indisputable fact that they both needed quality sleep to prepare them for the trial.

"Alright." Edgeworth managed a fleeting smile and lifted the boy into his arms, freeing up a hand to grab the tissue box and returning to the bed. "I don't suppose it would hurt this one time."

Arthur smiled for a moment, seeming truly relieved, but then he changed. He stiffened up and shook his head, fear widening his eyes, and he began to push away. "N-no, that's a bad idea. I'm s-sorry, I'm really sorry, I wasn't thinking."

Edgeworth frowned, not letting the boy scurry off of his lap just yet. "What's the matter?"

"I just wasn't thinking," Arthur repeated, seeming panicked. "I just—I wanna go back to my bed."

Edgeworth stared at the boy, confusion creasing his brow as he contemplated the possible cause for the sudden change. It took him only a moment, his own childhood experiences quickly providing a solution to the puzzle.

"Arthur," Edgeworth started softly, waiting until Arthur looked his way to continued. "I won't be mad if you have an accident. You can still stay in here with me."

Arthur watched him with cautious eyes, his expression torn between shock and disbelief. "I... you won't?"

Edgeworth brought out another quick smile and shook his head. "No, I won't. I promise. If it makes you feel any better…" He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, checking the clock as he passed it on his way to the bathroom. "You can sleep with a towel underneath you," he continued, pulling one from the closet and handing it to the boy on the bed. "How's that?"

Arthur took the fabric timidly, biting down on his lip and giving a few, hesitant nods. "It's, uh, it's good. Th-thank you… Mr. Edgeworth."

Edgeworth offered a few tired nods in return and then walked back to his side of the bed, crawling in and situating the covers over both of them. He laid down and rolled onto his side, smiling slightly when he felt a small hand on his back.

"Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth. I, um, I really, really mean it."

Edgeworth reached a hand back and pat whatever of the boy he could find. "You are very welcome, Arthur. Now, we both have to get some sleep, or we might find ourselves snoring in the courthouse tomorrow, and that would be rather inappropriate."

Arthur giggled at that, and then he fell silent, curling up on his half of the bed while Edgeworth kept to his own.

 _I suppose,_ Edgeworth thought, watching the digital numbers change from 2:59 to 3:00. _I suppose this situation isn't all that terrible. There are worse things, after all. Lots of them._

Still, he would be relieved when his three days were up.

Not that he didn't like Arthur—he did, actually; much more than he thought he would—child-rearing just… wasn't for him. He just… wasn't cut out for it. It just… wasn't his cup of tea. Simple as that.

It was just… as simple as that.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur grabbed onto Mr. Edgeworth's hand as they crossed the street, eyes darting in every direction. He had never see a building so big and yet… so not square. He was used to seeing skyscrapers in the shape of perfect rectangles, and apartment complexes with their identical rows of windows and lights and fire escapes, but…

Courthouses were not skyscrapers, and they were not apartment buildings. They weren't plain and square and skyscraper-y, they looked more like palaces to him—and yet they were so, so _big._

"Have you ever been to a courthouse before, Arthur?"

Shaking his head, the boy leaned into Mr. Edgeworth's side and held his hand a little tighter. "N-no. Never."

Mr. Edgeworth glanced down and gave a light smile. "You don't need to be afraid. It's just a building, and there's nothing inside but people."

"Bad people," Arthur muttered in reply. "Scary people, _mean_ people."

Mr. Edgeworth looked surprised for a moment, but then his smile returned in full force. "You're right. But it's my job to get rid of mean, scary, bad people. You don't have anything to fear, alright? No one is going to hurt you."

Arthur nodded, but he wasn't all that convinced. Wasn't Mr. Edgeworth going to try and hurt him in court today? Or at least hurt his mother? Wasn't Mr. Edgeworth going to separate them and get him sent to an orphanage where he wouldn't know a single soul? Wasn't Mr. Edgeworth going to make it so he was more alone than he had ever been before?

All of that sounded like it was going to hurt.

"Hold on."

Mr. Edgeworth let go of his hand for a moment to open the door, a black briefcase preventing his other hand from doing the job.

Arthur shuffled in and ducked his head to avoid attention or eye contact, though it looked like the building was mostly empty.

Mr. Edgeworth came in right behind him and held out his hand. Arthur quickly grabbed it, happy to be holding on to someone he knew, and the familiarity gave him enough confidence to ask a question that had been picking his brain on and off since he woke up.

"Can… can I go see my mom now?"

Edgeworth shook his head. "No. She has to stay in the defendant's lobby until we're in court. She'll be sitting near you while you testify, and when you're done, you'll be in the gallery. You won't be close to her, but you'll be able to see her from there."

"What's, um… what's the gallery?"

Mr. Edgeworth paused for a moment. "It's a place where you sit and watch the trial without actually being down by the lawyers and defendant."

"Oh…" Arthur didn't like the thought of being in a different part of the building alone, especially a part of the building that sounded far away from people he knew.

"Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I just stay with you?"

"Behind my desk?" Mr. Edgeworth snorted. "I don't think so."

Arthur pulled on the prosecutor's hand and stuck out his bottom lip. "Wh-why not? I wanna stay with you!"

Mr. Edgeworth continued to walk, pulling him down the hall and shaking his head. "I said no, Arthur."

"But I don't _want_ to go to the gallery!"

Mr. Edgeworth came to a sudden stop and whirled on the spot, glaring the boy into silence without saying a word himself.

Arthur leaned back slightly and clasped his hands together right below his nose to hide his lip-biting habit. He stared, heart pounding in his chest, waiting for punishment.

"When I say the answer is no, I mean it, and there is nothing else to discuss." Mr. Edgeworth wagged a finger in Arthur's face. "I am not about to waste time explaining myself to a mere child. Am I understood?"

"But—"

"Am I understood, young man?"

Arthur let his mouth hang open, jaw moving soundlessly as the desire to be heard and the desire to please battled for dominance. Eventually, the desire to please won, and he bowed his head with a nod and a simple word of submission.

"Understood."

Mr. Edgeworth nodded his approval and turned back around, pulling Arthur along in the direction of… wherever it was they were going. Arthur kept his eyes down as they walked, tears welling up and forcing him to sniff them away.

 _He won't listen to me. He won't let me finish. I want Daddy!_

"What are you crying for?" Mr. Edgeworth's voice was terse.

"Y-you won't let me finish…"

"Whatever you have to say is entirely irrelevant." Mr. Edgeworth came to a stop outside a door and fished around in his pocket, pulling out a set of keys and unlocking the door. "I told you where you're going to sit, and because you are under my authority, that is where you are going to sit. Period."

Arthur opened his mouth, an objection dancing on his tongue, but then he stopped. He looked back down at his feet and nodded. He should have known it was pointless to argue. That was why he kept his mouth shut, right? That was what caused him to cry in the first place, keeping that frustration bottled up inside.

 _I shoulda kept my mouth shut._

Mr. Edgeworth glanced at him but didn't say a word, choosing instead to release the boy's hand and make his way over to a box on a nearby table. He picked up a note someone had left on top of the box, giving it a quick read before setting it aside. He murmured something about a pay cut as he began to pull apart the flaps.

Hesitantly, Arthur reached out and grabbed the note. He slid it toward himself and wiped his face on his sleeve, blue eyes still damp with tears scanning the words.

 _Hey, Prosecutor Edgeworth!_

 _This is all the evidence we found at the scene! Sorry I didn't take it to your office… looks like I lost the key… again. I put some of Arthur's stuff in the box next to this one. I would have brought it over last night, but I had a weird fainting spell, and I guess it slipped my mind…_

 _Good luck, Prosecutor Edgeworth!_

 _Love, Gumshoe_

Arthur read the note again and giggled to himself. He remembered Gumshoe, and he remembered the man in question was a detective. It seemed so silly that he would sign his letters with 'love' instead of something more official.

 _Gumshoe was the first person to come to Mommy's call…_

Frowning, Arthur abandoned both the note and the train of thought and walked around to the second box; the one that was supposed to have his 'stuff,' a term which, hopefully, meant toys.

Arthur wrapped his arms around the box and, with a soft grunt and a little muscle, lifted it from the table. He carried it over to the sofa and plopped down beside it, peering into the mess of socks and toothpaste and—ooh!

Arthur snatched up his favorite hoodie and wrestled the fabric down over his head, humming to himself at the resulting warmth. _So soft. So fuzzy. So warm. Mmm._

Still, a sweatshirt was not going to keep him occupied, so he looked again, sapphire eyes lighting up at the sight of a red racecar. He grabbed it, sadness all but completely gone, and continued to dig until he found the blue corvette that went with it.

Humming a happy little tune to himself, Arthur got down on the ground with his cars and began to play. He had plenty of space to work with, little hands driving the vehicles anywhere from windowsills to potted plants, all the while backed up by the necessary sound effects.

 _I wonder what all Mr. Edgeworth's stuff is for. Mr. Gumshoe said it was evidence, so… do they use it in the trial? Maybe I should take a look… I don't want anything in that box to hurt Mommy…_

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about his mother, and he didn't want to think about what she had done. He wanted to play, so he did exactly that, leaving his thoughts in the metaphorical dust as the race continued over the top of the television and underneath the table.

"Are you quite enjoying yourself?"

Arthur jumped, having forgotten Mr. Edgeworth was in the room with him, and he wondered if he was doing something that was against the rules. "Uh… um… mm-hmm."

Mr. Edgeworth didn't seem angry, though. He gave a light smile—which Arthur had realized was the same as a regular smile for a regular—and he turned his attention to the bag in his hands.

It seemed all was well, so Arthur continued to play, and a sense of peace settled over the room.

That peace lasted until the door burst open, and a young girl in a bright purple coat came flying in.

"Mr. Edgeworth!"

A man in jeans and a bright blue sweater followed right behind her, laughing nervously as he apologized for the rude interruption.

"Hi, Edgeworth."

Mr. Edgeworth acknowledged the man with a nod. "Right."

Arthur frowned. _That doesn't make any sense._ Slowly, he approached the group, listening to their conversation.

"I heard you were sick."

The new man laughed, waving it off. "Heh, it's nothing, really. I wouldn't worry about it."

The purple girl rolled her eyes. "He's got a fever of 102.7, and he was up all night coughing his guts out. I told him to take medicine, but he won't listen to me."

Mr. Edgeworth sighed, shaking his head. "You need to take care of yourself, right." Then, with the faintest of smiles, he looked to the girl. "You better keep tabs on him, Maya."

Arthur assumed this meant the girl's name was Maya.

Maya nodded enthusiastically, he oddly styled hair bouncing around her shoulders as she did. "Oh, I know! And I will!"

The new man's jaw slackened slightly. "Hey! I can handle myself, thank ya-choo!" He coughed into the crook of his arm several times, and Mr. Edgeworth raised his eyebrows.

"Sure you can, right. You're also an excellent defense attorney."

Arthur tugged lightly on Mr. Edgeworth's jacket and waited for the prosecutor to look at him. "Are you guys friends? What's his name?"

Mr. Edgeworth pointed to the man. "Right."

Okay, so they were friends. "What's his name?"

Mr. Edgeworth frowned slightly. "…it's right."

"About what?" Arthur questioned, turning his eyes to the stranger.

The man rubbed the back of his neck and laughed, crouching down an extending a hand. "My name is Phoenix Wright. W-R-I-G-H-T, like the brothers who invented the airplane."

Arthur nodded slowly. His dad had taught him about the Wright Brothers "Ohh… I get it! Nice to meet you, Mr. Wright. I'm Arthur." He held out his hand and Mr. Phoenix shook it.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Arthur, but you can just call me Nick. Or Mr. Nick, if you're more comfortable with that." Mr. Nick smiled at him.

Arthur smiled back. He liked Mr. Nick.

But then Mr. Nick was looking at Edgeworth again, and he was talking, and he was using the grown-ups-are-saying-things-they-don't-want-kids-to-hear voice.

Mr. Edgeworth looked at Arthur, and while he didn't seem angry, he definitely wasn't smiling.

"Arthur, stay here with Maya, and behave yourself. I'll be right back."

Arthur bit down on his lip, stopping when Mr. Edgeworth gave him a disapproving look, and nodded his head. _Don't leave. I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm sorry._

Edgeworth didn't hear his silent pleas, and he left the room without another word, pulling the door shut behind him and leaving Arthur and Maya alone.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just sort of… looked at each other.

"Do you like Steel Samurai?" she blurted suddenly, clearly unable to contain herself.

Arthur blinked, processed the question, and then he grinned widely. "Do I ever!"

* * *

"What's this about, Wright?"

Phoenix glanced around to ensure the hall was empty. "It's about Alyssa Coleman being guilty."

Edgeworth let out a sigh and visibly struggled not to roll his eyes. "Well, yes. She admitted to shooting her husband, and there was a witness, so—"

"No, I mean it wasn't justifiable homicide. That's why I didn't take the case."

Edgeworth didn't seem any more impressed. "Well, I would imagine that's why the State is charging her. If it were clean-cut justifiable hom—"

"Edgeworth, just let me _finish._ " Phoenix looked around himself again, wary of people and security cameras alike. "Look, I know I'm not supposed to be shaping your opinion and stuff because it's against the rules, but I'm telling you, she's hiding some deep dirt. It's not good. Also, if it comes down to it…" He slipped a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it over to his long-time friend. "This person might be able to offer you an… interesting perspective."

Edgeworth looked at the note for a moment and then lifted his eyes to stare at Phoenix, eyes sharp and slightly judgmental. "If you have this all figured out, why didn't you take the case?"

Phoenix lifted his arm and coughed weakly into his arm. "Why, haven't you heard, Edgeworth? I'm very sick with the flu." He opened his mouth to speak again, but his pseudo-coughing had put a tickle in his throat, and soon his wheezing was genuine.

"This is why you should never try to be funny."

Phoenix slapped himself in the chest, trying to force the spasms out of his ribcage. "You're one to talk—" cough, cough, "—I'm surprised you even got—" cough, cough, cough, "—the joke, given your non-existent sense of humor." Coughing, coughing, coughing, until he finally caught his breath.

"Do you need a glass of water, Mr. Wright?"

"Shut up," the attorney groaned. "There's a water fountain around the corner." He cleared his throat a few times, waving his hand in an 'anyways, moving on' sort of gesture. "I can access a lot more evidence when I'm not on a case. I already know the right verdict, so it helps me piece things together when I can get a look at things from the outside."

Edgeworth paused, chewing on his bottom lip, and Phoenix sensed his childhood friend was having a hard time getting past the idea.

"I know we don't really agree about what it means to be a prosecutor or a defense attorney, but for the kid's sake, don't you think it's best we wrap this up as quickly as we can? Less trial, less trauma. You know?"

Edgeworth didn't reply right away, and Phoenix fell silent, watching as sharp, gray eyes filled with frustration and bewilderment. He kept quiet, brow creasing with worry, and waited for Edgeworth to give him a clue as to what was going on in his head.

"What will happen to Arthur?"

The question caught Phoenix somewhat off-guard, and it took him a moment to respond. "I… I don't know. I guess he'll go to an orphanage or foster care. He'll be somewhere in the system." He paused, scrutinizing the torn look on the prosecutor's face. "Edgeworth, you're not seriously going to let her off the hook because she has a kid."

"Of course not!" Edgeworth glared at him with a familiar, righteous fire in his eyes. "I would never do something like that. There are just… a few things I want to look into first." He tapped his jawline with his index finger, lips slightly pursed. "I'll have to play the trial by ear today. I'll call my first witness, of course, but I have a feeling that's going to fall through. I simply have to make it last the whole day and give myself more time to collect evidence."

Phoenix nodded in agreement. "Knowing she's guilty and proving it are two different things entirely."

"As are proving it and convincing a judge," the prosecutor tacked on dryly.

"True." Phoenix chuckled softly and then coughed a few more times. "Okay, I need a drink. Send Maya out, would you? We're going to sit in the gallery. It might help you to have an extra pair of ears listening to the arguments and testimonies."

Edgeworth gave a single nod and grabbed on to the doorknob, his hand stopping before it could twist. "Would it be alright if Arthur sat with you before and after his testimony? He seems perturbed by the idea of sitting in the gallery alone."

Phoenix blinked, confused by the tender-hearted nature of the request. No offense to his best friend, but Edgeworth wasn't exactly 'good' with children—or people in general—and sympathy was not high on his list of skills.

… _was_ it on his list of skills?

"Uh, sure." Phoenix shrugged his shoulders. "Why not? We sit with Pearls all the time. What's the difference?"

Edgeworth smirked. "Who knows? I guess we'll find out. Thank you, Wright."

With that, he stepped back into the room, and Maya came out a second later, babbling about her new best friend. Phoenix turned and walked down the hall towards the drink of water he was well overdue for, pretending to listen while his thoughts wandered, his head bobbing up and down on an automatic nod cycle.

 _He isn't wrong. There are still a few things that don't add up… and we need enough evidence to convince the judge… but I know she's guilty, and he should know I know these things. Even if that means bad news for Arthur, he can't…_ Phoenix shook his head, coughing again into the crook of his arm. _Edgeworth, I hope you know what you're doing._

* * *

"Court is now in session for the trial of Alyssa Coleman."

Arthur pressed a hand to his stomach, biting down on his lip and taking a deep breath to calm the flipping and flopping in his gut.

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honor." Mr. Edgeworth spoke seamlessly with an air of relaxed confidence. He was prepared.

"The defense is ready, Your Honor." The defense attorney on the case was no different, his strong voice leaving a light echo in the open courtroom. He was prepared.

Even Arthur's mother, sitting in the defendant's chair with her hands in her lap, dabbing her eyes the way she did when she wanted her husband to buy her things he said they couldn't afford, looked prepared.

Arthur was the only one not prepared.

His fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, heart pounding in his chest as he thought of standing before the jury, the judge, and the two shouting lawyers while he recalled the worst night of his life. He just wanted to be alone—well, no, he didn't want to be alone, but he didn't want to talk about what had happened to his daddy.

"If I have the facts straight, the defense has chosen to plead not guilty, correct?"

"Correct, Your Honor."

Arthur swallowed hard. _Not guilty of what? What was she, um, what did they say she did? Did she say she… got rid of daddy in self-defense, or is she saying she didn't do it at all? I don't understand. I don't know what to do. I don't—_

"Very well. Will the prosecution make an opening statement?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Mr. Edgeworth nodded, stone-cold gaze aimed across the room at his enemy of the day. "Bruce Coleman was shot in his apartment at approximately 9:45 p.m. on August twenty-first. Police arrived at the scene to find the defendant sitting on the couch with her unconscious son. She claimed self-defense, the child later woke up in hysterics and corroborated her story. The State is charging the defendant with murder in the second degree."

 _What's murder in the second degree?_

The judge nodded. "I see… The prosecution may call its first witness."

"Yes, Your Honor."

Arthur's gut clenched, and he balled his fists at his sides, chewing on his upper lip.

"The prosecution calls Detective Dick Gumshoe to the stand."

Arthur's eyes snapped open, and he looked at Mr. Edgeworth in confusion. "Huh…?"

"They always call the detective first."

Arthur jumped, looking up at the man from the lobby named after the airplane brothers. "M-Mr. Nick!"

Phoenix put a finger to his lips, shushing him quickly. "Remember, we're in a court," he whispered, sitting down beside him.

Arthur's heart still pounded in his chest from the miniature heart attack, and a light blush tinted his cheeks. The whole court probably heard him shout, including Mr. Edgeworth.

Mr. Nick gave him a comforting, warm smile. "As I was saying, the detective almost always goes up first. He'll state the facts about the case because he was the one investigating. After that, Edgeworth will call you."

Arthur continued to nod, taking deep breaths to settle his mind. Mr. Nick tapped his shoulder again. Arthur looked at him expectantly.

"I just wanted to say good luck and don't worry. You'll be great up there."

Arthur forced a smile, but he felt even worse than before. _If I'm going to be so great, why'd he wish me good luck, huh?_

* * *

Edgeworth crossed his arms over his chest, listening carefully to the detective's layout while looking at the plans lying on his table. Occasionally, he would glance up to the gallery, hoping to see Arthur, but he wouldn't find him, and then his eyes would return to the witness.

"Hold it!"

The defense attorney on the case, an out-of-town lawyer named Luke Stevenson, pressed Gumshoe this way and that, but the facts were standard. Edgeworth rarely had to object, and Gumshoe was on and off in a flash, the only big differences being that of evidence added to the court record.

"Will the prosecution call the next witness?"

Edgeworth nodded, eyes briefly scanning the stands to see if he could find Arthur. "The prosecution calls Arthur Coleman to the stand."

A bailiff went to get the crates often used for shorter witness while Arthur came down the steps. The boy waited until the crate was in place to hop up, quietly thanking the man before facing forward, his fingers nervously toying with the hem of his shirt.

"Witness, please state your name and grade in school."

Arthur looked at him, and Edgeworth could tell how unbelievably terrified he was. Softening his voice just slightly, Edgeworth looked into Arthur's eyes and smiled.

"Name and grade, Arthur."

Arthur pointed at him. "Hey, you just said it!"

"Did I?" Edgeworth tapped his chin, pursing his lips. "Slip of the tongue, I suppose."

Arthur seemed to grow slightly more comfortable, and he jabbed his thumb to his chest. "I'm Arthur Coleman, and I'm in the third grade!"

Edgeworth frowned. "Third?"

"Mm-hmm. Because of my birthday."

Edgeworth gave a sharp nod. "I see. Arthur, I'm going to ask you to testify in a moment, but first I would like to say something to the defense." Edgeworth turned away from the child on the stand and met Luke's gaze evenly, steel grey eyes boring through light green ones relentlessly.

"You will not badger this witness. You will get your necessary information, and then you will desist. This is not a request."

Luke's eyes sharpened, but Edgeworth did not waver, turning back to the boy on the stand.

"Arthur, please testify to the court concerning what you saw the night of the incident."

Arthur nodded his head and took a deep breath. "My daddy came home acting funny, and… well, my mom told him not to do that anymore. She said, um, she said I was supposed to hide under the bed, and then she told him he had to go away." His throat tightened, and he wrung his hands almost obsessively. "She said if he didn't, she was going to call the police. Then… it got really noisy, and there was… there was a lot of shouting, and Mom screamed, and then there was a bang… and everything got… really, really quiet. That's… that's all that happened."

The judge nodded gravely. "You experienced something awful, didn't you?"

Arthur stared down at his feet, refusing to answer one way or the other.

Edgeworth scowled to himself, tilting his own head down to look at his papers. _This isn't right._ He leafed through the pages, eyes flickering from picture to picture as he reconstructed the house in his mind. _Something is missing._

"Um… did I… did I do something wrong?"

Edgeworth glanced up from his papers and arched a quizzical brow. "No, Arthur, you haven't. It seems the defense has simply forgotten their purpose here."

Stevenson grinned, shaking his head. "Oh, no, Mr. Edgeworth. I haven't forgotten. I just can't decide where to start."

"Well, do you think you could hurry it up?" Edgeworth folded his arms over his chest, tapping his bicep with more than a little irritation on his face. "Some of us don't have time to waste."

 _Though I suppose that's not necessarily true. I'm the one who needs to drag out the trial today._ Edgeworth spared a glance in Arthur's direction, offering a brief smile when he saw the nervous child looking at him expectantly. _I'll have to do something about that tic of his._

"Would the witness please repeat his first statement?"

Arthur nodded slowly, his words uncertain. "I… don't remember. What was my first statement exactly?"

Edgeworth picked up the written testimony and, after clearing his throat, read it aloud. "My daddy came home acting funny, and… well, my mom told him not to do that anymore."

"Oh!" Arthur perked up, seeming to regain some of his confidence. "So, I just say more about that?"

Stevenson gave a few nods. "If you can, I'd like you to explain what you mean by 'funny.'"

Arthur bit down on his lip, and Edgeworth inwardly cringed when the skin began to break. "I… I don't know what you mean…"

Stevenson smiled briefly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk in a casual manner. "Well, you said he was acting 'funny.' Was he acting funny like a clown does? Making noises and telling jokes? Was he acting funny like he was falling over and making faces?"

Edgeworth stared the other man down, keeping his façade of cold indifference, while inside he frowned in confusion. _His demeanor changed. When Stevenson stopped speaking with the court and started to speak with Arthur, his body language and tone changed. But his eyes didn't. They're still snake eyes._ He might have kept his frown inside, but outwardly, he started to tap his arm a little faster.

"Um… it was kind of like the second one."

"Okay, good job. Now—"

"Objection!" Edgeworth slammed his hand down on the desk, and somewhere in his subconscious he realized he had startled Arthur. "The defense is attempting to lead the witness. Arthur, now that you have an example of what words you can use to describe your father's behavior, I want you to tell the court how he was acting in your own terms."

Arthur lifted a hand to his mouth and started scratching around his mouth idly, his teeth apparently unable to soothe his anxiety any longer. "I… didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. Mr. Edgeworth is simply being difficult."

Edgeworth glared across the room. "That's Prosecutor Edgeworth to you, Mr. Stevenson." He turned his eyes back to Arthur and tried again to explain what he needed. "You were given a list of options, and you chose one, and that was fine. But now I would like you to describe things without simply saying, 'the second one.'" Edgeworth paused, and then he spread his arms. "Can you describe this room to me?"

Arthur seemed to grow more fearful with every passing second, but he took a look around and started to stammer out an answer. "It's… um, it's big, and the ceilings are high… there's a lot of light… and everyone echoes when they talk."

Edgeworth smiled briefly and nodded, encouraging the account of their surroundings. "Exactly. But I didn't give you any of those words, did I? And neither did Mr. Stevenson. You thought of them yourself based on what you were looking at. So, what I would like you to do, is go back in your memory and use _your_ words to describe was _you_ saw."

The nervousness seemed to drop off, and Arthur began to bounce on his toes a little. Knowing what was wanted of him seemed to inspire confidence despite his overall fear. "Oh, I can do that. I can—yeah, I can do that." He stopped, chewed on his lip _again_ , and then continued. "He was really loud. He does that sometimes, not in a mean way, just… he laughs louder, and he talks louder, and he walks with big, booming footsteps. He sometimes has… I-I mean, he _had_ a hard time standing up straight. And he talked funny, like everything was a tongue twister."

Edgeworth nodded his head—it felt like he was doing that a lot, but he didn't know how else to encourage the boy—and scribbled a note on the tablet to his left. "Thank you, Arthur. That was perfect. Mr. Stevenson, are you satisfied?"

"Indeed." Stevenson didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the testimony. "Arthur, moving on to your third statement. Ah, here, let me read it. 'She said if he didn't, she was going to call the police. Then… it got really noisy, and there was… there was a lot of shouting, and Mom screamed, and then there was a bang… and everything got… really, really quiet.'" Stevenson looked up from his desk. "Arthur, can you describe the sounds you heard?"

"The sounds?"

"The noise," Stevenson explained. "It got really noisy, a lot of shouting, your mom screamed, and there was a bang. What was the noisy part?"

Arthur tensed up slightly, the reaction not unnoticed by Edgeworth, and he started to fiddle with his hands again. "Well, I… stomping footsteps… there were a lot of those. Um, Mom told him to go away… she shouted a lot—"

"Hold it!"

Arthur jumped, and Edgeworth shot Stevenson an accusatory glance.

"Arthur, we already know your mother was shouting. I want to know about the other noises you heard. You were hiding under your bed, there were footsteps, and while they were shouting, they must have been moving."

Edgeworth prickled. _You're pushing it, Stevenson._

"You probably heard some sounds like someone being hit—"

"Objection!" Edgeworth gestured to the witness stand. "Your Honor, the defense is clearly leading the witness."

The old man nodded, eyes wide, as though some shocking secret had just been revealed to him. "Oh! Oh, yes. Hmmm… yes, yes, clearly. Mr. Stevenson, you will refrain from leading the witness with your questions."

Stevenson levelled a glare at the prosecutor on the other side of the courtroom. "Yes, Your Honor."

Edgeworth allowed himself the pettiness of a smirk, and then looked to his witness once more. "Arthur, what do you mean by noisy?"

Arthur was scratching at his mouth again, blue eyes glassy. "I—I don't know. It just was. It was… there was… I think the TV was on… or the radio, maybe? Someone was talking, like… like a DJ or the news people. It was up loud… I couldn't tell what Mom and Daddy were saying, but that was loud, too. I… I really don't know what else… I didn't hear anything else."

Stevenson seemed to perk up at that. "I would like the witness to append that to their testimony."

Edgeworth arched a brow. "Are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Stevenson?"

"Absolutely." The defense attorney gave a predatory grin. "Arthur? Will you append that last statement to your testimony?"

"Append?" Arthur seemed so small behind the large, wooden stand. "What's that mean?"

"It means to add it onto your testimony." Edgeworth briefly broke eye contact with his opponent. "We use that word a lot. Just remember, append means add."

Arthur blinked a few times and then nodded. "Okay, I'll add it. I didn't hear anything else."

"Objection!"

Edgeworth saw the boy jump despite all attempts to hide it, and he began to compile a mental list of all the things he would do to Stevenson when the trial was over.

But Stevenson couldn't hear his thoughts, and thus, paid him no mind. Instead, he set his eyes on Arthur, going after the contradiction like a shark after blood.

"There is a huge contradiction in your testimony, Arthur."

"Th-there is?" the little blonde stammered, his anxiety shooting back upward.

"Yes, there is. We found quite the mess at the crime scene last night. There was a lot of jewelry on the floor along with a broken mirror. You didn't hear the glass shatter? There was also an overturned bookshelf. You didn't hear any thumps that were too loud to be a footstep?"

"I-I—"

Edgeworth laughed. He laughed out loud, and it resonated in the court, and he had half a mind to be embarrassed about it, but he just couldn't help himself. "Oh, Mr. Stevenson."

Stevenson stared back at him, somewhere between angry and panicked.

"You've dug your own grave." Edgeworth shook his head, still smiling to himself, and gestured toward the center of the courtroom. "By all means, please continue your line of questioning. But understand, once you go down this road, you cannot go back."

Stevenson glared at him, falling silent, but the determination in his eyes seemed to grow.

"Um… wh-what's going on…?"

Edgeworth glanced in Arthur's direction. "It's just part of the trial. Be patient."

Stevenson grit his teeth and squared his shoulders. "Arthur, did you hear any glass shattering?"

"No, I… I don't remember that."

"Did you hear a loud thump, like the bookcase falling over?"

Arthur blinked, confused, looking between the prosecution and the defense.

 _If he understood what this implies, he would be lying through his teeth. He doesn't realize he's taking away the one witness backing his mother's story._

"Arthur," Stevenson pressed. "Did you hear something like a bookcase falling over?"

 _He's trying to lead Arthur into saying he heard sounds of a struggle that indicated her life was in danger. Shouting is not enough to warrant shooting someone, and even in a Stand Your Ground state, both of their names were on the lease. It's impossible for him to trespass on his own property, and without a restraining order…_

"No… I… I don't remember hearing that. I heard footsteps, and shouting, and…" Arthur bit down hard on his lip, a few tears escaping the corners of his eyes. "I don't understand."

Edgeworth let out a soft sigh. "It's alright, Arthur. You haven't done anything wrong. You told the truth. It just so happens the truth is not what the defense would like to hear." He turned his gaze to Stevenson. "Arthur's testimony shows one of two things. He either wasn't present or conscious at the time of the murder, and thus, he is not a valid witness. Or," and this was the one he was betting on, "there was no life-threatening struggle."

"Objection!" Stevenson's voice echoed in the courtroom. "It's entirely possible he didn't hear those specific sounds amongst all the other noise."

"Objection!" Edgeworth slammed a hand down on the table. "The glass, maybe, but Arthur said he could hear the television or radio in the next room. There is no reason why he wouldn't hear a heavy bookshelf falling over in the room on the opposite side."

"Objection! He also said he couldn't make out what his parents were saying. Clearly his ability to hear what was going on in that room was diminished."

"Objection!"

"Objection!"

Edgeworth slammed his hands down on his desk, resisting the urge to stomp his foot. "I didn't even say anything!"

Stevenson slammed his desk, too. "You didn't have to!"

"Order! Order! Order!" The gavel pounded relentlessly onto the block.

A heavy silence blanketed the courtroom while Edgeworth and Stevenson continued to send mental chaos across the board, both of them steaming.

The judge cleared his throat. "The prosecution and the defense are lacking either the evidence required to prove their points or the mental clarity to present it properly."

Edgeworth glanced up at the judge apologetically. "The police department had very short notice on this case. I'm afraid even the autopsy report hasn't made it to us yet."

"I call for a twenty-minute recess. Try to get more results during this time and be prepared for the reconvening."

Edgeworth nodded as the court was let out, sighing in frustration as he shoved the case files into his briefcase.

 _Enough time to grab a coffee and contact Detective Gumshoe. I need to be prepared for him to turn this on its head. If he goes with the idea that there was no witness, there's nothing but physical evidence, and I don't think there's enough to convince the judge of a second degree murder charge. On the other hand, if Arthur really did—_

Edgeworth stopped dead in his tracks.

"Arthur?" He lifted his head and looked at the witness' stand, but it was empty. He looked up at the gallery, but he didn't see a red hoodie or a head of shiny, blonde hair. "Arthur?"

He turned in a circle, scanning the entirety of the room, and then he bolted for the door. He slid out and looked around, trying to figure out which way he should go. There was no crowd to hide Arthur, only stragglers, but all three corridors were void of children.

"Arthur!" He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Arthur!"

No response. No little footsteps. No sound effects.

 _I've got to pick a direction. I've got to pick one—left, we came from the left. He would have gone somewhere familiar._

It wasn't much, but it was all he had to go on, so he started running. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he probably looked ridiculous—a grown man in a three piece suit running down the halls of a courtroom, how could he not?—but he didn't care. Because while that thought was in the back of his mind, the front of his mind was overwhelmed with one though and one thought only.

 _Find Arthur._

As far as Edgeworth was concerned, nothing else really mattered.


	4. Chapter 4

Sneakers squeaked against the tile floor, the sound echoing down the empty hall as Arthur continued to run. He pumped his arms and bit down hard on his lip, the muted colors in the hall blurring with the light streaming in through the windows.

He rounded a corner, nearly falling in the process, and then he was off again. His little heart was beating wildly in his chest, and his lungs were starting to hurt from the lack of air, but he didn't want to stop. He wanted to find a place to be alone, in the quiet, where he could curl up and cover his head and forget about everything. He wanted a place where he could take a few deep breaths and wipe his face and stop the flood of tears rolling down his cheeks.

 _I lied. I lied, and Mr. Edgeworth knows that now. He's gonna be so mad at me, and I don't want him to be mad at me. I don't want him to hit me, I like him. I don't—I just—I wanna go home. I just wanna go home!_

Arthur slowed to a stop in the middle of an intersection and began to look around, trying to reorient himself and figure out where he was. He turned in a slow circle, looking down each hallway and wiping his face on his sleeves.

 _I wanna go home… I wanna go home… I want Daddy…_

Thinking about his father made him cry harder, and after another moment spent rubbing his eyes, he started down the hall to his left.

"Arthur!"

Arthur froze, looking up and realizing with horror that he had made a giant circle and wound up heading back toward the courtroom. Mr. Edgeworth had come after him, and instead of coming up behind Arthur, he had gotten in front of him.

"Arthur, there you are."

Arthur pivoted and ran back to the intersection, turning the corner to go in the opposite direction of what he thought was the courtroom. Not that he had a very clear understanding of the layout, and even if he did, how was he supposed to keep track of where he was when every single hall looked exactly the same?

"Arthur, get back here! Arthur!"

Arthur kept running, ducking his head and going as fast as his feet would take him. He licked the blood from his lips and choked back another sob, egged on by the sound of Mr. Edgeworth running behind him.

"Arthur, why are you running away?"

Arthur only tried to go faster, his legs objecting to the attempt immediately.

"Arthur, answer me!"

Mr. Edgeworth's footsteps got faster and closer, and no matter how hard Arthur tried, he couldn't outrun someone with significantly longer legs.

He had almost made it to another corner when his arm was seized in a vice-like grip, forcing him to screech to a halt in the middle of the hall. His heart stopped, and he whirled around on the spot, looking up at Mr. Edgeworth with pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes.

"Don't you _ever_ run off like that again." Mr. Edgeworth leaned over and rested his free hand on his knee, panting from the run. "I was looking all over for you, and I couldn't find you anywhere. You scared me half to death!"

Arthur trembled and tried to find his voice, tugging his arm in an attempt to get free. "I… I just wanted to be alone. I'm s-sorry…"

Mr. Edgeworth shook his head, but he didn't speak right away. He took a moment to catch his breath, and once he was able to stand up straight again, he continued the scolding. "This is not the place to be alone, Arthur, and you should _never_ wander off without permission no matter where you are."

Arthur gulped and hung his head, still pulling on his arm, fresh tears springing up in his eyes. "I'm sorry…" he whispered.

"What if someone had grabbed you and run off?" It was as if Mr. Edgeworth hadn't even heard him. "They could have done any number of horrible things to you. I might never have seen you again."

Arthur sobbed, rubbing his face with his free hand. "I s-said I was sorry."

Mr. Edgeworth sighed and knelt down in front of him, still holding onto his arm. "I know you're sorry, Arthur, and I accept your apology. I just want you to understand the danger you were in. I'm not angry with you, you just… you scared me, that's all."

Arthur stared at the floor, eyes burning and vision blurring. His shoulders shook, saline splashing onto the marble tiles as the sobs his air-deprived lungs couldn't handle began to form.

"Come now, Arthur. You aren't going to cry because of a scolding, are you?"

"You h-hate me, don't you?" Arthur hiccupped, keeping his head down, shame heating his cheeks. "I l-lied to you, and then I r-ran away, and—and—you must hate me!"

"Arthur…"

Arthur covered his face with his hands and screwed his eyes shot, wailing loudly. He felt a pair of firm hands on his shoulders, but they did little to comfort him. If anything, it sent a twinge of fear down his spine.

"Arthur, I don't hate you. You did lie, yes, and lying is wrong, but… this is a very special situation. I don't condone lying, and I won't tolerate it, but you're a child. You are a child in a very adult situation, and…" Mr. Edgeworth let out a sigh, and when Arthur looked up, he was shaking his head. He looked lost, like he didn't know what to say, which was silly, because grown-ups always knew what to say.

"I-I'm really s-sorry, Mr. Edgeworth…" Arthur sniffled and bit down on his lip, watery, blue eyes peering up at Mr. Edgeworth. "I'm really, really s-sorry."

"I know, Arthur, and I forgive you." Mr. Edgeworth offered a small smile and gently tugged the boy's lip out from between his teeth. "Stop that biting. Look at you. You're all cut open and bleeding."

Arthur did stop biting himself, but he couldn't have cared less that his lips were bleeding. His chest was still aching, and his eyes were still stinging, and he still didn't feel like he was deserving of forgiveness.

"H-hold me?" he asked, holding his arms up hesitantly.

Mr. Edgeworth blinked, a surprised look on his face. "I… well, you see… I've never… I'm not really sure how to…" He scratched the back of his neck, glancing away.

"Please?" Arthur almost bit down on his lip, but then he stopped himself, hoping the obedience would be enough to make Mr. Edgeworth want to pick him up.

Mr. Edgeworth looked at him for a moment, and then he looked down at his own hands. He pondered them for a moment, and then he slipped them underneath Arthur's arms. He lifted Arthur from the ground and fumbled for a moment before situating the boy on his hip.

"How's that?"

Arthur threw his arms around Mr. Edgeworth and held on tight. "Th-thank you…"

"Certainly." Mr. Edgeworth cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, and then he started back down the hall toward the courtroom. "Certainly…"

Arthur went to rest his head on Mr. Edgeworth's chest and jumped when his nose rubbed against the white, ruffled thing on Mr. Edgeworth's neck. "Oops." He bit his lip. "I… I'm sorry, I accidentally wiped my nose on your… thingy."

To Arthur's surprise, Mr. Edgeworth only chuckled and reached up with his free hand to remove it. "Don't worry. It wouldn't be the first time my cravat has been used as a handkerchief." He handed over the soiled, white cloth. "You hold onto that for now, and for goodness' sake, stop biting!"

Arthur quickly stopped chewing and grabbed the cloth tightly. "S-sorry."

Mr. Edgeworth sighed and shook his head. "What am I going to do with you? Hmm?"

Arthur blinked a few times and then shrugged. "I dunno."

Mr. Edgeworth smiled again. "I'll ask Wright to get you some chapstick. Hopefully, he can run the errand before recess is over."

Arthur leaned against Mr. Edgeworth, tired from all his crying and getting colder with every moment he wasn't moving. "I didn't know there was recess. Do we get to play?"

"Uh, no. Well, I suppose you could, but I can't. Recess is supposed to be for the lawyers to look at their evidence and think about the case they want to make." Mr. Edgeworth wrapped his free arm around Arthur's back, situating it a few different times before he had it the way he wanted.

It made Arthur want to laugh. Mr. Edgeworth didn't know how to carry people!

"Mr. Edgeworth… do you… do you believe that I saw what happened?"

Mr. Edgeworth glanced down at him, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. "I want to believe you, Arthur. However… I think there is something you're not telling me, and until you can be completely honest with me, I have to believe the evidence and nothing else."

Arthur sniffled and leaned in a little closer, wiping his nose with the cravat. "You have to believe the evidence?"

Mr. Edgeworth nodded. "I do. That's my job. I look at pictures and fingerprints and forensics, and from all of that, I figure out what happened." He sighed then, a poignant sadness going into his eyes, and he looked down at Arthur with an almost pleading expression. "You understand, don't you? I have to do my job. I don't want to hurt you or your mother, but I can't lie."

Arthur nodded slightly. "I-I know…"

It didn't look like that answer made Mr. Edgeworth feel any better, but the hallway began to fill with noise, and as they drew closer to the crowd, Arthur was unable to find his voice.

 _I'm sorry… I'm really, really sorry…_

And he really, really was.

* * *

It was difficult for Edgeworth to pull his attention away from Arthur long enough to focus on the trial, but his constant self-reminders that Arthur was with Wright managed to curb the separation anxiety.

 _He's fine. He's safe. He's with a reliable guardian—relatively speaking—getting chapstick and maybe a little something to eat. Everything is fine._

"Has the prosecution made any changes to their opening statement?"

"There is nothing to change, Your Honor." Edgeworth chuckled and shook his head, allowing himself a little bit of mockery at the defense's expense. "Lack of a witness, in this case, means lack of corroboration for the defendant's own claims. The State is still charging Alyssa Coleman with murder in the second degree."

"Very well." The judge nodded thoughtfully. "Has the defense made any changes to their plea?"

"No, Your Honor." Stevenson shook his head, staring Edgeworth down from the other side of the courtroom. "The defense is still pleading not guilty under the pretense of justifiable homicide."

The judge looked back to Edgeworth. "Well, Prosecutor Edgeworth, do you have a witness to call?"

Edgeworth nodded his head. "Seeing as the case has come down to physical evidence for the time being, the prosecution would like to call Detective Dick Gumshoe back to the stand to reiterate the physical findings in the Coleman apartment."

Gumshoe, who apparently hadn't realized that was the next logical move to make, startled rather loudly and clambered his way up to the witness stand.

"Detective," Edgeworth started, inwardly counting backwards from ten to give himself a pinch of patience. "Please testify to the court regarding the physical evidence of this case."

Gumshoe nodded enthusiastically. "Right, pal! I mean, Prosecutor Edgeworth!"

 _Oh, sweet mercy from heaven above, help me._

"Well, after we detained the defendant and got a medic in with the kid, I started lookin' around at the scene. Mr. Coleman's body was in the bedroom, propped up against the bed like in that picture I showed you."

Edgeworth handed a copy up to the judge to head off any unnecessary questions.

"There was a bookshelf and a mirror and a bunch of jewelry on the floor. Real big mess there in the bedroom. Rest of the house was cluttered, but it didn't look like there were any more signs of a struggle. We got the hunting rifle from the closet, sent the body away with the coroner, and waited for forensics to finish up. There wasn't nothin' special about the forensics of the scene, and the ballistic markings that came back for the bullet showed it came from the hunting rifle we found."

Edgeworth somehow made it through the entire testimony without having a coronary or demanding a recess or both. "Yes… thank you, Detective. Um… if the defense would like to… cross-examine."

Stevenson nodded, his expression torn between annoyance and bewilderment. If nothing else, he at least shared Edgeworth's sentiments on Gumshoe's lack of professionalism or… intelligence in general.

"Uh…" Stevenson shook his head. "Detective, I'd like to press your first statement. You said you detained the defendant at the scene. Why?"

Gumshoe tilted his head to the side and scratched his neck, confused. "Huh?"

Stevenson collected himself and tried again. "You can't detain someone unless you have a reason to believe the homicide wasn't justified. What reason did you have for detaining the defendant, if any?"

"Oh!" Gumshoe smiled widely, apparently understanding what was wanted of him. "Well, to be honest, there wasn't any hard evidence, but I did have reason to believe somethin' wasn't quite right. See, you lawyers deal with murder trials all the time, but there are lotsa cases that don't make it all the way to the courtroom, especially when it comes to battered women. They don't wanna testify against their husbands or boyfriends, and sometimes, that's true even when the abuser is dead. They get so psychologically beaten down, see, so they don't think it's worth defending themselves, or they think nobody'll believe'em."

Gumshoe nodded in the general direction of the defendant's chair. "She didn't look or act like a battered wife. No bruises, no blood, no scars, no bloodshot eyes—heck, she wasn't even crying when I got there." Gumshoe rubbed the back of his neck again and shrugged his shoulders. "I volunteer at a women's shelter on my weekends, and I'm pretty used to interacting with abused women. The defendant just… wasn't acting how a battered woman would have acted. It might just be a fluke, but it was weird enough that I thought somethin' was fishy."

Edgeworth blinked, surprised by the response for multiple reasons. For one, Gumshoe had inferred suspicion from observation rather than plain-as-day, in-your-face, stone-cold, factual evidence. For another, he had no idea Gumshoe spent his free time helping battered women, and despite his disparaging opinion of the detective's lacking IQ, he had to admired the all-consuming desire to help others.

"So, what you're saying is, you arrested the defendant on a gut feeling?"

Edgeworth glared at Stevenson, fully prepared to knock him on his backside, but Gumshoe beat him to it with a round of foot-stomping and a shout.

"Hey, pal! Nothing is more accurate than a detective's gut!"

Edgeworth rolled his eyes. "I believe what the good detective is trying to say is that his experience lead him to believe something was amiss at the scene of the crime."

Stevenson shook his head. "That's not good enough. You need probable cause."

Edgeworth chuckle and shrugged his shoulders. "In a murder trial, the defense attempts to place a reasonable doubt within the mind of the judge. This detective had a reasonable doubt that the client was innocent. I think that is plenty reason to warrant an arrest."

"It's innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around. You're comparing apples and oranges, Mr. Edgeworth, and so is your detective." Stevenson extended a finger to point at Gumshoe, eyes blazing. "Detective, did you or did you not have probable cause to arrest this woman?"

Gumshoe's brow scrunched up, and he looked between Edgeworth and Stevenson as if they were both crazy. "Uh, weren't you listening?"

Stevenson frowned. "What?"

"No bruises, no blood, no scars. You can't shoot someone for yellin' at you, pal, or a lot more people would be dead." He shrugged his shoulders. "I told you about my gut feeling 'cause it plays an big part in makin' sense of what I see, but she was still in perfect condition for a lady who was supposedly fearing for her life."

Edgeworth smirked slightly, whipping up a mental note to raise the detective's pay somewhere in the near future, and looked across the room. "Satisfied?"

Stevenson glared at him, but he turned back to Gumshoe and pursued another statement nonetheless. "Detective, you said you didn't see any signs of a struggle in the rest of the apartment. Did you see anything odd or out of place at all?"

Gusmhoe rubbed his chin and looked up at the ceiling, humming loudly as he thought over the question. "Hmm… hmm… lemme… hmm…"

Edgeworth pinched the bridge of his nose. _Perhaps a raise is a little much. I shouldn't get carried away._ Still, he made no attempt to cut off the detective's long-winded thinking spell.

"I don't think so, pal. Um, I remember the kitchen was awful messy. I was trying to find something for the kid to snack on to try and calm him down, but the fridge was pretty bare. I did find some candies, but he didn't want those, which I thought was weird, because they tasted great…"

Stevenson sighed and began to massage his temple. "Let me guess. You had a gut feeling about the kitchen, too?"

Gumshoe nodded slowly, almost absently. "Yeah, I kinda did. It didn't fit, just like the defendant. Battered women usually keep a real clean house, always have the dishes and laundry done, because they don't want to tick of their husband or boyfriend. But this kitchen was a downright mess, and the kid didn't want to go anywhere near it. There was a lot of beer in the fridge, too."

Stevenson motioned for more information. "And…?"

"Oh, I guess that's it. Just—yanno, the kid said his mom was yellin' at his dad for drinking. I figured if she didn't want him drinking, she wouldn't have two twelve-packs in the fridge, or she would at least have some juice or tea or something. But nope. Just beer. I just thought it was funny." Gumshoe shrugged his shoulders and laughed in that dopey, nervous way he often did.

Edgeworth frowned, looking down at his notes. _That does sound a bit strange. Perhaps I need to go back to the crime scene and do a little investigating of my own._

"Mr. Stevenson, does this line of questioning hold any relevance to the case?" the judge asked.

Stevenson shook his head with an irritated sigh. "No, Your Honor, it would appear not."

"Objection!" Edgeworth threw his pointer finger out and, after a brief smirk, wagged it condescendingly. "Not so. I would say there are some oddities to be seen in the house that weren't investigated thoroughly enough. Why doesn't the house match up with the typical home of an abusive male-on-female dynamic? Why didn't Arthur want to go into his own kitchen, when the only thing on his mind should have been the horror he just witnessed? Furthermore, we need to investigate the scene of the crime, the clutter and fallen furniture, and attempt to figure out whether the signs of a struggle were real. Because they were either faked, or the witness isn't actually a witness, and I think it would be rather foolish to continue the trial before we know for certain whether or not this case even has a witness."

The judge nodded thoughtfully while Stevenson sent a deadly glare across the room. Edgeworth simply smiled and waited, glancing up at the judge's stand when the old man began to speak.

"Yes, yes, I can see the logic in this."

Stevenson rolled his eyes. "He's buying time."

"What's that?" the judge turned to look at the defense, his ear tilted toward the desk.

"Nothing, Your Honor. I think your ears were tricking you." Stevenson smiled sweetly.

The judge nodded. "Oh, yes, yes. Of course." He cleared his throat then and picked up his gavel. "Very well! We will reconvene tomorrow at eight a.m. precisely. You have until then to gather more evidence and speak at length with any potential witnesses. Adjourned!"

The gavel came down, and Edgeworth held Stevenson's stare for a moment longer. Then he grabbed his case files and walked to the exit, snagging Gumshoe's arm as he passed.

"Come with me. I managed to buy some time, but it isn't much, and we have a lot to investigate."

"Yes, sir, Prosecutor Edgeworth, sir!"

He had more than a lot to investigate. He had to get clothing for Arthur, look into the note Wright had given him before the trial, go over the updated case files, talk to people, have potential lab tests run, perhaps make a trip to the coroner, and somewhere in all of that he had to keep Arthur happy, fed, occupied, clean—oh, goodness, clean, Arthur needed a bath, did he even have soap?—and he had less than twenty-four hours to do it all.

 _That's alright. It's fine. I still have everything under control._

He ran a hand through his hair, bangs falling back into place after his fingers trailed through.

 _I have everything under control._


	5. Chapter 5

"I don't want that one."

Edgeworth sighed heavily and shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You need a suit, Arthur, and you've turned down at least twenty of them. If you don't pick one soon, I'm going to pick one for you."

"It's not my fault." Arthur pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, seeming genuinely distraught at his inability to find a suit he wanted. "None of them are right."

Edgeworth creased his brow. "What constitutes a 'right' suit?"

"Oh, I know that one! We the people, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domes—"

"No, no." Edgeworth chuckled softly, shaking his head. "That's the Constitution. I asked what _constitutes_ a suit you would find to be right. That means I'm asking what makes a suit right. What are we looking for?"

Arthur twisted his lips, his little brow scrunching up as he considered the question. "Um, it needs…" He moved his hands, like he was struggling to find the right word. "It has to be…"

Edgeworth crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot, waiting somewhat impatiently while Arthur turned in a circle and examined every rack he could see from where he stood.

"There!" He took off like a rocket, out of sight in half a second.

"Arthur!" Edgeworth darted after him, quickly catching up. "Where are you going?"

Arthur latched onto a suit and whirled around, displaying it proudly with a wide smile.

Edgeworth quirked a brow, but his lips were pulled into a small smile. "Burgundy, huh?"

Arthur nodded, still smiling widely. "Just like yours."

Edgeworth laughed softly and took the hanger from Arthur, folding the suit over his arm. "We'll have to try this on, and then we need to find you some casual clothes and pajamas."

Arthur nodded and started hopping towards the fitting rooms, arms pressed to his sides and feet together.

Edgeworth slowly walked behind him, watching him navigate his way through the racks in the bounciest way a human being possibly could. It was odd—not that Edgeworth really knew what children typically did and didn't do—but amusing in its own way.

Arthur came to a stop outside the fitting rooms and turned around, holding his hands out expectantly.

"Can you manage on your own?"

Arthur nodded enthusiastically. "Yup!"

Edgeworth pressed his lips together for a moment, unsure as to whether or not he believed Arthur, but he eventually handed over the suit.

"Thank you." Arthur wrapped both arms around the fabric and carried it away, disappearing into one of the stalls and closing the door.

Edgeworth stared for a moment, and then he took a seat on one of the chairs by the wall, silently trying to plan the rest of his day.

 _It's well after lunch, so we'll have to stop somewhere to get food. I need to figure out a way to investigate the crime scene without dragging Arthur into it. Perhaps Wright could watch him for a little while. Speaking of…_

Edgeworth reached into his pocket and pulled out the note Wright had given him before the trial. He unfolded the paper and scrutinized the chicken scratch. _Tasha Clarke._ He pursed his lips. _It's just her name and a number. Hmm…_

"It fits!"

Edgeworth glanced up and leaned toward the open arch. "Can you come out and show me?" Not that he didn't trust Arthur to judge a properly fitted suit, but he didn't trust Arthur to judge a properly fitted suit.

"Um… but it fits."

Edgeworth creased his brow. "I know, I would just like to see at it. Is something wrong?"

There was a brief pause. "No…" That didn't sound convincing. "I don't have a shirt to go with it. I don't wanna come out without a shirt on."

"Oh. That's understandable. I'll just come back—"

"No, I don't want you to see, either."

Edgeworth frowned slightly. "Is there any particular reason why?"

Arthur paused again, a little longer than before. "I just don't like it."

Edgeworth stopped for a moment and considered the position he was in. If Arthur said he didn't like something, it usually meant he was afraid of it. Edgeworth didn't want to force him to share his fear, but he also had two days left to find out what Arthur's home life was like.

Standing up, Edgeworth walked down the short hall to the door concealing his temporary charge. "Arthur," he pressed, speaking as gently as he could. "Why are you afraid?"

"M'not…"

"I think you are." Edgeworth put his hand on the door handle. "You need to let me in, Arthur. I need to make sure you suit fits you right."

"It _does,_ " Arthur whined.

"Arthur, who is always, always in charge?"

Silence. Sighing. Silence, and then a sliding lock.

"Thank you." Edgeworth opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him before kneeling down in front of Arthur. "Can you stretch your arms out in front of you?"

Arthur did as he was told, and the sleeves seemed to fit.

"Now out to the sides."

Arthur buffered, tears welling up in his eyes as he moved the way Edgeworth told him to.

 _Don't react._ That was the first thought that went through Edgeworth's mind, and he was glad he prepared himself, because he certainly would have reacted had he not.

"Arthur." Edgeworth gently took the jacket halves in his hands and pulled them apart, allowing the light to illuminate the layered bruises. "What happened to your stomach?"

Arthur sniffed, rubbing his eyes with his hands and refusing to answer.

"Does it hurt?" Edgeworth brushed his fingers along the very edge of the oldest, yellowish mark. "Does it hurt to breathe or talk?"

Arthur shook his head. "N-no, it's fine… I fell…"

Edgeworth wet his lips and paused for a moment, trying to word himself as carefully as he possibly could. "It's not fine, Arthur. You're hurt. Hurting is never fine." He paused again. "Now, where did you fall to hurt yourself this way?"

Arthur twisted his foot nervously and bit down on his lip.

"Lip." Edgeworth pulled on the skin until it was free. "Where did you fall, Arthur?"

"Down the steps." Arthur stared at his feet, one hand still rubbing furiously at his eyes.

Edgeworth tried not to sigh. "You fell down the steps and hurt your stomach this way?"

Arthur nodded immediately, apparently unaware of how difficult it would be for a fall down the steps to cause such severe and layered bruising on his stomach.

"Who was with you when you fell?" Edgeworth asked gently, inspecting the length of Arthur's pants. "Or were you alone?"

"Mom was with me." Arthur looked the other way then. "Does the suit fit?"

Edgeworth accepted the change of subject for the moment. "Yes. Your jacket is a bit big, but better big than small, and I'm hardly going to have it tailored for a two-day event."

Arthur turned to look at himself in the mirror, some of his melancholy melting into joy.

"I really like it." He smiled and turned to look up at Edgeworth. "I need a shirt and a vest, like you have."

Edgeworth smiled lightly. "I think that would be a good idea, yes. Now that we know what size you wear, shall we look?"

Arthur nodded enthusiastically, and Edgeworth stepped back out of the changing room, this time staying close by.

"We'll have to be quick about it. We've got a busy day ahead of us, and we haven't even had lunch yet."

"Okay!"

* * *

Edgeworth let out a heavy sigh. He let out a heavy, exasperated, two-hours-and-no-leads sigh. It was the kind of sigh he sighed when he had to listen to Gumshoe ramble, but with a little more punch to it.

 _Let's start from square one._ Edgeworth walked over to the door and turned around, pretending to enter the apartment. There was a wall in front of him, so he had to turn to the left to get into the living room. If he continued going straight, he would enter the hallway, and if he turned to the right, the living room was stretched out before him.

Edgeworth looked down at the notepad in his hand, though he wasn't sure why. He had read his copy of Arthur's testimonies so many times, he could probably recite it backwards. _So, Bruce comes home intoxicated._

Edgeworth turned so he was looking at the living room. _I'm Bruce Coleman. If I go into the kitchen, where Alyssa claims she was, I don't get shot. I get stabbed._ He shook his head. _I didn't go into the kitchen... was I on my way?_ Edgeworth took a few steps and shook his head again. _She still would have gone for a knife if she thought there was a threat. From here, I can intercept her before she gets to the closet with the gun, and the same thing applies if she didn't know there was a threat and came out unarmed. I would have stopped her._

Edgeworth took a few steps back and turned to the left, starting down the hall. He passed Arthur's room on his right, and then he had to decide whether he wanted to go straight and enter the bathroom, or right and enter the master bedroom.

 _I'm intoxicated, so maybe I needed to use the facilities._ Edgeworth frowned. _Even if I do, if Alyssa is waiting for me when I come out, the argument would take place in the hall. I definitely wouldn't walk away if I was trying to hurt her, so there's no way for me to end up in the bedroom._ He turned to the right and walked into the bedroom, looked around at the untouched evidence and continuing his scenario. _Either way, I end up face down on my bed, alone in the room. Alyssa comes in and we begin to argue. Ergo, Alyssa initiated the conflict._

If they were in a Stand-Your-Ground State, that wouldn't have mattered, but they didn't. They lived in a state where initiation played a big role. They also lived in a state where one had to run to the 'area of last retreat' before using deadly force.

 _She doesn't fall into either of those categories favorably. She was the initiator, and she clearly has a chance to get away. Bruce is the one trapped, because she's between him and exit._ Edgeworth frowned and stepped back into the hall, switching roles. _I'm Alyssa. I've had it with my husband's drinking, and I'm going to tell him, but I'm afraid. I bring a weapon with me to be safe. Why wouldn't I turn and run when he turns violent?_ Edgeworth looked down the hall further. _Arthur. Maybe I think I can't get both of us out quickly enough. So, I can't run._

He walked back into the room. _If Bruce runs at me, and I shoot him, he falls forward. That didn't happen. He was standing or sitting in place. Where is the threat to me? Where is the endangerment of life?_

Edgeworth scowled more and more with each thought flickering through his brain. _This whole scenario is off. She told Arthur to go hide under his bed. Why? He would be closer to the conflict, able to hear them fighting through the walls, and possibly in danger. Why not tell him to go out to the kitchen, or better yet, send him to a neighbor for help._ He briefly thought of the name Wright had given him, and he wondered if she was one such neighbor.

Edgeworth shook his head, waving the thought away as though his hand could influence his focus. He looked back at the notes in his hand, his earlier sense of frustration returning.

 _Arthur was found in his room, utterly hysterical. It's possible he ran from the kitchen to his room after the murder, but it's more likely his testimony is accurate. He was told to hide under his bed._ Edgeworth started down the hall and cut through the living room, entering the dining room through an arch to his right. _Arthur is afraid of the kitchen. Gumshoe had suspicions about the kitchen. Alyssa didn't send him out here for a reason._

Edgeworth went around the dining table and looked over the thin counter into the kitchen area. Nothing was particularly eye-catching, so he went around the counter and began to snoop.

Investigate. He began to investigate.

Dishes sat in the sink, a foul odor rising from the pile, and there was old pizza sitting on the stove. Sugar, creamers, and a coffee machine were shoved into a corner beside the fridge. Next to that, the wall was indented by about a foot with shelves from floor to ceiling.

 _There's nothing suspicious about this._ He turned around in a circle, observing more messes and miscellaneous food items. He put a glove on one hand and opened the cabinets one by one, finding pots and pans and just about anything one might suspect they'd find in a kitchen.

He got to the cabinet above the fridge, and he was forced up onto his tiptoes, barely able to reach the knob and pull the door.

 _Nothing in here, either. Napkins, plastic cutlery, paper pl—_

Edgeworth froze. _That's it!_ He abandoned the cabinets entirely and dropped onto his hands and knees. _I can't look at this from an adult's perspective. I have to look at it from Arthur's perspective. His line of sight is lower, so whatever Alyssa didn't want him stumbling upon is down here._

Edgeworth sat back on his haunches, continuing his train of thought. _I'm a child, and I'm terrified. I find somewhere to hide. Somewhere small, where I can curl up and feel safe, relatively speaking._ Eyes scanned the room slowly, drifting from tea towels to bottles until finally falling on the shelves. _I go into the pantry._ Edgeworth crawled closer. _There's toilet paper stored here, but it's light, and it only provides more protection._

Edgeworth pulled the toilet paper out and crawled under the lowest shelf, which he could sit beneath somewhat comfortably, and then he looked around. _I'm hiding. I have a nervous tick for lip biting. I fiddle with things._ He tapped along the wall and floors with his gloved hand. _My parents are shouting at each other. Maybe I want to feel safer, so I build up the wall outside my hiding place._ Edgeworth grabbed the paper towels that had been stored next to the toilet paper. _I stack them on top of each other. I have a little more space now…_

Edgeworth tapped on the walls and floor again.

He struck a floorboard with his knuckle, and he heard it.

 _Hollow._

There wasn't a lot of light in the bottom of the pantry, but feeling his way around worked. He found a hole, too small for his finger to fit through. _But not Arthur's._

Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed his car keys and stuck one into the hole, pulling up the board with relative ease. He grabbed it with his hand and moved it aside, looking down into the compartment with a satisfied smirk.

 _That's check, Alyssa Coleman._

He reached down and pulled out a tray of little, glass bottles and a mason jar full of… candies? Confused, but still thoroughly pleased, he got back on his feet and placed the items on the counter.

He pulled out one bottle and held it up to the light, squinting.

 _I stand corrected._ Edgeworth smirked, already reaching for his phone to call Gumshoe. _This is, in fact, checkmate._

* * *

Author's Note: Please tell me I'm not the only Schoolhouse Rock fan here. Please.


	6. Chapter 6

"I know you want to play, and I'm sorry. I thought I would be finished at the office sooner, but you need a bath and it's too late to do anything else before bed."

Arthur slouched his shoulders but didn't resist, shuffling over to the stairs and throwing one, last, longing look over his shoulder. Mr. Edgeworth smirked slightly, one hand holding an open file while the other extended to point to the steps.

"Go on."

Arthur groaned, but he trudged up the stairs anyway. He wasn't against taking a bath—not really, it had been a while, and his arms felt kinda sticky from the humidity outside—but he had been running around the city with Mr. Edgeworth _all_ day. He really wanted to play.

He _really, really_ wanted to play.

 _I guess I can play while I'm taking a bath…_

It would be hard to play, however; very hard considering how worried he was. He had heard a lot of hushed, adult voices talking about his mother, and he didn't like that. If adults had something to say that was good, they didn't keep their voices down, so whatever Mr. Edgeworth found during his investigation must have been bad.

 _I don't want Mom to go to jail…_ He didn't really want her to come back home, either, especially since his daddy wasn't around to protect him anymore; but he didn't want to be alone. _I don't want to move… and get put in an orphanage, and…_

Arthur sniffed and rubbed his eyes, pushing the thoughts aside for the time being and kicking his shoes off on the bathroom floor. He followed it up with his pants, briefs, and shirt, taking just a few moments to figure out how the bathtub worked and then waiting for it to fill up.

 _Hmm…_ Arthur turned the knob on the closet door. _I wonder… if Mr. Edgeworth has any bubble bath._ He pulled it open and looked inside, unsurprised to find it just as organized as the rest of the house. _Oh, where… is my bubble bath?_ He grabbed onto the shelf and used one of the storage bins as a foothold. _Oh, where… is my bubble bath?_ Pulling himself up, he tried to get a look at all of the bottles. _Oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh wheeeeere is my—_

Suddenly, the world was spinning, and before he had the chance to figure out why, his head smacked against the tile flooring. He heard the containers and bottles crashing to the floor, some of them hitting his already battered body. It hurt—oh, his head, his head hurt so bad—and even though he didn't mean to, he started to cry.

Arthur clamped both hands down over his mouth and rolled onto his side, trying to muffle the sounds, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Mr. Edgeworth had to have heard the loud crash, and when he came up and saw Arthur crying—

 _I gotta stop. I gotta stop right now!_

But it hurt. It hurt _so_ bad. His head was throbbing, a sharp pain still stabbing into the upper right-hand side, he felt sick to his stomach, his ears were ringing—it hurt so bad.

"Arthur!"

Arthur flinched when the door flew open and then flinched again when Mr. Edgeworth put a hand on his shoulder.

"Arthur, what happened? Arthur? Arthur, answer me!"

Arthur choked out another sob and screwed his eyes shut, afraid to look up. "I'm s-sorry. It was—hic—an accident. I'll clean—I'll clean it up, I promise!"

"I don't care about that, Arthur, I need to know if you're hurt." Mr. Edgeworth pulled on his shoulder again, sitting him upright. "Arthur, tell me what happened."

Arthur dragged his free arm over his eyes. "I d-didn't mean t-to…"

"Arthur, look at me."

Arthur opened his eyes, but he kept looking at the floor, one hand coming up to press against his head.

"Arthur, please look at me."

Arthur glanced up but dropped his gaze immediately, nausea swirling in the pit of his stomach.

Mr. Edgeworth put a finger under Arthur's chin and tugged gently, speaking with urgency but, somehow, patience. "Come on, Arthur. Let me see that handsome face of yours."

Arthur let Mr. Edgeworth pull his head up, and he finally relented and made eye contact, though his eyes took a few seconds to focus.

"Arthur, yes or no. Do you hurt?"

Sniffing, Arthur mumbled a reply. "Yeah…"

"Tell me where." Mr. Edgeworth thumbed the tears away and then put his hand under Arthur's chin again.

"M-my head… my head really hurts, Mr. Edgeworth."

Mr. Edgeworth nodded quickly. "Okay. Did you hit your head when you fell?"

Arthur nodded as much as Mr. Edgeworth's hand would allow, even the slight motion causing his pain to spike. "Ow…"

"Alright." Mr. Edgeworth took a deep breath, almost like he was trying to calm himself, and then he stood up. "Here's what we're going to do." He walked over to the tub and shut off the water. "We're going to get you in your new pajamas," he explained, lifting Arthur into his arms and leaving the bathroom behind, "and we're going to go see a doctor."

Arthur shook his head, moaning from the pain, and pressed his forehead against Mr. Edgeworth's shoulder. "I don't wanna go see a doctor…"

"It's not optional, Arthur. You have to."

Arthur flinched and kept his mouth shut, fingers gripping and releasing the shirt beneath them. His stomach was still churning, and the pain in his head wasn't getting any better, and he was so, so, _so_ tired.

Mr. Edgeworth got to the bottom of the steps and went to the kitchen, pulling a nightshirt from one of the bags. "I… I'm sorry if that sounded harsh. I didn't intend it to." He put Arthur's feet on the ground and helped him get the shirt on, very careful not to touch his head or the bruises on his body. "Can you tell me why you don't like doctors?"

Arthur shrugged and wiped his eyes again, standing and watching in something like a daze as Mr. Edgeworth sifted through the bags. "I dunno." He sniffed again. "They ask a lot of questions."

Mr. Edgeworth tore open a pack of boxer shorts and pulled out a pair, holding them down so Arthur could step into them. "What kinds of questions do they ask, Arthur?"

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but as soon as his foot tried to go into his boxers, he toppled to the left. Mr. Edgeworth managed to catch him before he hit the floor, but it didn't take away the dizziness.

"Mr. Edgeworth?" Arthur reached out blindly and felt around for arms or hands or _anything._ "I—I don't feel well…" His stomach twisted, and the world spun again, black splotches dotting his already blurred vision.

"…an you hear me? Ar…"

Arthur tried to put his foot back on the ground, but it wouldn't move—actually, his foot might have already been on the ground. No, it couldn't have been. Not if the kitchen was still rocking back and forth. Saliva filled his mouth as the sensation of nausea grew, and he grappled with what felt like a sleeve.

"Mr. Edgew… I really don't feel good…"

"Do you n… ash can?"

Arthur opened his mouth to say that yes, he definitely did, but dinner came out instead. Tears blurred his vision, his breathing obstructed by the painful twisting in his gut, and the next thing he knew, the whole world was black.

* * *

Edgeworth slapped his own hand, scolding himself yet again for the filthy, nail-biting habit he had picked up over the last hour and a half. His thumb was back at his mouth in less than twenty seconds, teeth closing around the nail and grinding until he slapped his own hand again.

 _It's just a concussion. It's just a concussion. He's going to be fine. It's just a concussion. They have to run tests. Of course they have to run tests, he's covered in bruises, it's mandatory. I should have filed a report, why didn't I file a report? Not that it would have kept him from falling, but—_

"Hey."

Edgeworth startled and turned around, but despite the happiness he felt at seeing his friend, the company did nothing to ease his anxiety. "Hello, Wright. Sorry to wake you."

Phoenix shrugged, entering the small room with a quick look around. "You didn't wake me. I'm a night owl." He gestured to the plastic bag in his hand. "I brought the clothes."

Edgeworth had to stare for a few seconds before he understood. "Right. Yes, I asked you to—yes, thank you." He reached out and took the bag, pointing to the hall with his other hand. "Restroom's over there. I'll go change. He's, uh—he's getting a CT scan right now. They—let me change quickly."

Phoenix gave him a tight smile and a nod.

Edgeworth left the examination room and passed a few very similar chambers before arriving at the bathroom door. He pushed his way in and locked it behind him, rushing through the buttons on his shirt and dropping the fabric to the floor. He did the same with his pants and wet a few napkins, wiping his stomach and upper thighs before changing into the casual wear Pheonix had brought.

 _That's a little better, at least… a little less sticky._

Not that Edgeworth had it in him to care. When Arthur had thrown up all over his suit and passed out, the only thing he could process was the need for an ambulance.

 _I've been in here too long. There's no telling when they'll come back._

Edgeworth stuffed the soiled clothing into the empty bag and left the room, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he made a beeline for the exam room. He wasn't exactly surprised to see Arthur wasn't back, but he couldn't say he wasn't disappointed.

"You look terrible."

Edgeworth glared and tossed the bag at Phoenix. "They're your clothes, you imbecile."

Phoenix laughed lightly. "Well played, but that wasn't what I meant. You look really stressed and exhausted." He patted the empty chair next to him, inviting Edgeworth to sit.

Edgeworth shook his head, choosing to pace instead, his thumb wandering up to his mouth before dropping back down. "He regained consciousness in the ambulance. He hasn't passed out again, but for the longest time, he wasn't making any sense at all."

"Sounds like he got a pretty bad concussion."

Edgeworth stopped pacing for half a second, a brief wave of shock and jealousy washing over him before giving way to the guilt that had been gnawing on him all night long. "This is why I shouldn't be in charge of children. I didn't even know that much until the doctor told me."

"You knew to call 911." Phoenix shrugged. "That's what I would have done, do it doesn't really matter that you didn't know exactly what was wrong."

"Yes, it does. I didn't—" He stopped pacing and let his shoulders slouch. "I didn't know what to do. He was just lying there, and he wasn't moving, and I couldn't get him to wake up, and…"

It terrified him.

"They said they'll probably send him home with me tonight. I don't know what to do, Wright, I'm not…" Edgeworth ran a hand through his hair again. "I'm not cut out for this. I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't how to talk to children, and I don't know how to give Arthur what he needs. I'm—"

Edgeworth stopped when Arthur's bed was wheeled into view and maneuvered into the exam room. He gave Arthur a smile, but Arthur simply looked down, biting his lip anxiously.

"Dr. Callahan will be back in a moment," the nurse instructed, reconnecting the wires to the monitor and giving Arthur a brief smile. "Hang in there, little buddy. You'll be able to go home soon." He nodded a brief acknowledgement to Phoenix and Edgeworth, but then he was gone.

"Geeze. It's crazy busy tonight." Phoenix got to his feet and walked over to the bedside. "Woah. You're hooked up to all kinds of things. You're like an android or something, in for repairs."

Arthur smiled weakly, his eyes half-lidded. "Yeah, I guess so…" His hand twitched in an attempted wave. "I wish I was just here for repairs."

Phoenix only smiled some more, gingerly pushing Arthur's hair out of his eyes. "You kinda are. But don't worry about it, okay? I had a couple concussions when I was a kid, and it sucks, but it'll feel better in a while."

Arthur hummed in response, but he still looked depressed. His expression was entirely blank, his eyes unfocused and directed at nothing, head flat against his pillow. He looked exhausted, but it was more than that.

Edgeworth cleared his throat and joined Phoenix by the bed. "Arthur, how are you feeling?"

Arthur shrugged his shoulders and kept looking at nothing, but tears started to gather in his eyes. "M'okay."

Edgeworth looked to Phoenix for help, but Phoenix gave him a look of helpless confusion. Evidently, he didn't know what to say or do, either.

"Does your head feel better? Or is it about the same?"

"Same," Arthur mumbled, fingers picking at the fabric of the bedsheets.

Edgeworth wet his lips and struggled with his words for a moment. "Is there… can you tell me what's bothering you?"

Arthur sniffed but shook his head. "Nothing's bothering me."

Edgeworth glanced at Phoenix again, and while they were both uncertain, Phoenix certainly did try to help.

"Arthur, you seem pretty upset. What happened tonight was scary… and I'm sure you're in a lot of pain right now." Phoenix paused. "It's okay to be scared. It's okay to tell us what's wrong."

Arthur sniffed again and blinked hard, one tear rolling down his cheek. His breathing got choppy, little sobs cutting in every now and then. "Are—are you m-mad at me?"

Edgeworth closed his eyes, the question cutting into his chest like a knife. "No." He shook his head and opened his eyes again, reaching out to gently turn Arthur's chin toward him as he had in the bathroom. "No, Arthur, I am not mad at you. I am not even frustrated, not in the slightest."

Arthur let out a breath, more from necessity than relief, and he sniffed yet again. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Mr. Edgeworth."

Edgeworth reached for the handkerchief in his jacket, but he was neither wearing a suit nor equipped with a kerchief. "Wright, go find some tissues."

"Got it." Phoenix stepped away from the bed, hurrying out the door.

"Arthur, look at me."

Arthur whined but turned his head to look at the side Edgeworth was on.

"I am not angry with you, Arthur. I was worried about you. I'm sorry if I shouted, but I didn't raise my voice in anger, I promise."

"But it's so expensive," Arthur whispered, averting his eyes at the last second. "Mom always said if I went to the doctor's, it would cost so much money, we would have to live on the streets, and… and I don't want you to lose your house, Mr. Edgeworth."

Edgeworth kept his breathing level, trying not to let his anger toward Alyssa show on his face. "What your mother told you…" _is a disgusting lie,_ "…doesn't apply to me, alright? I have a lot of money. I'm not losing my house. I'm not losing anything."

Arthur blinked rapidly, his eyes wide. "Y-you're not?"

Edgeworth smiled slightly and shook his head. "I'm not." He paused for a moment and then took Arthur's hand in his. "Even if I were going to lose my house, it wouldn't matter. Your health is more important than a house, Arthur. _You_ are more important than a house."

Arthur shook his head frantically, freezing up almost immediately from the pain it caused.

Edgeworth shushed him and gave his hand a squeeze. "I don't care about the money, Arthur. I don't care about the mess or the hassle. I care about you." He squeezed the hand again. "You might not think much of yourself, but you don't get to decide what I think of you, and I think you are worth it."

Arthur squeezed back, shutting his eyes again and trying to stifle his cries.

Phoenix appeared on the other side of the bed. "I found tissues."

Edgeworth glanced at him. "What took so long?"

Phoenix pointed at the door. "Dr. Callahan wants to talk to you."

Edgeworth straightened up and turned around, spotting the woman in the doorway, and he turned back to Arthur with a smile. "I'll be right back. I have to go talk to the doctor. Mr. Wright will stay with you."

Arthur nodded hesitantly, but his attention was soon grabbed by Phoenix, who was attempting to clean his face.

Edgeworth turned and walked out of the room, meeting the doctor as she turned and began to walk away, motioning for him to follow.

"Mr. Edgeworth, I understand this is a very delicate situation you're in."

"Yes, I—"

"But you should have filed a report." Dr. Callahan continued through the hall, walking briskly. "You should always file a report when there are unexplained or insufficiently explained bruises on children."

Edgeworth would have been offended by the accusation if he weren't so concerned and guilt-ridden. "I understand. It's been a bit of a whirlwind forty-eight hours."

Dr. Callahan stopped briefly but resumed her pace in less than a second. "Mm, yes. I forgot about that. The Initial Trial System; effective in some ways and obtrusively problematic in others." She entered a dimly lit room and approached a lit x-ray board. "I apologize if I came off as callous. I do understand the flurry of activity surrounding a murder trial."

Edgeworth shook his head. "Just as well do I understand the nature of your job and how many unreported, unresolved cases of abuse you must see."

She gave him a brief glance and a grim nod, but then her attention was back on the board. "I don't know if you have any suspicions about who the abuser is, but whoever it was, they have been doing this for a very long time." She pointed to various spots on the black and white film. "These were all broken at some point, but it's unlikely he was treated. I can't say for certain the fracture in his arm was taken care of at home, but it certainly looks that way. This is what it looks like when you have a clean break that's reset but never seen by a professional. It's good enough, but it's not how it should be."

Moving seamlessly, Dr. Callahan turned on the ceiling lights and turned off the board. "We took pictures of the bruises and other marks, all of which will be sent to the Prosecutor's Office, but I had these two printed right away." She put one on the table, directly under the light. "I wrote the measurements in the top corner so you can check the family members and make sure, but my experience tells me this was left by a woman's hand." She pulled another picture out and put it on top. "These marks were also most likely left by a woman, unless the man of the house has long, well-kept nails that could leave marks this deep in the skin."

Edgeworth shook his head immediately. "There's no way. He worked blue collar, and he was a man's man to be sure." He took both pictures, sensing her urgency and knowing she had patients to return to. "This is everything you wanted to show me right now?"

Dr. Callahan nodded. "Like I said, everything else was sent to your office."

Edgeworth nodded, too. "Thank you. I appreciate the effort."

They both went for the door, Dr. Callahan hitting the light as they went out.

"Can you get back to the room on your own?" she asked, already walking down the hall to the right.

"Yes," he replied, having turned left before she could speak. "I'm sure you have work to do. Goodnight, Dr. Callahan."

"Good morning, Mr. Edgeworth."

Edgeworth buffered for a moment but then realized it was well past midnight. _I suppose that's fair._ He sighed and looked at the photos again, glancing up only to ensure he didn't run into anyone. _Definitive proof of abuse, and evidence pointing toward Alyssa as the culprit._ He weaved his way through the crowded hall. _It's not enough to prove she planned and executed a murder, but it should sway the judge against her, and it will certainly kill some time during tomorrow's trial. Goodness knows I'll need it after tonight's fiasco and my lack of time to contact the witness Wright told me about._ _Oh, and I'll need someone to watch Arthur. He's hardly going to want to sit in a courthouse all day with a headache and an upset stomach. I might have to ask Wright to do it, though I really did want him to be present for the trial. Gumshoe will have to be at the courthouse, too. I suppose there's Maya, but…_

Well. That was a problem for another day.

Or rather, the same day, but after he'd had some sleep.

 _Arthur, you are going to be the death of me, I swear._

Oddly enough, Edgeworth found he didn't really mind.

In fact, he kind of liked it.

* * *

Author's Note: All hail the VeggieTales reference. All hail breaking the physical constraints of time. All hail the emotional trauma.


	7. Chapter 7

Edgeworth kept his arms folded tightly over his chest, not allowing the fatigue he felt to deter his glare in the slightest. It had decreased his ability focus on casework, kept him from making a breakfast that was more than a pack of pop-tarts, and compromised his driving capabilities, but it would not deter his glare.

Edgeworth wouldn't allow it.

"You look like you had a rough night, Mr. Edgeworth."

"Prosecutor Edgeworth." Edgeworth tapped his finger on his bicep, glancing at the empty stand to his right. "You said you were going to call a witness, I believe?"

Stevenson leaned on his desk and put his chin in his hands. "You believe correctly. I would like to call Arthur Coleman to the stand."

Edgeworth maintained a cool expression, but inwardly, he grinned like a devil. _Such a narcissist. You couldn't resist the opportunity to make a fool of me, could you?_

"Arthur is not at the courthouse today." Edgeworth brushed his fingernails on his lapel, his expression nonchalant. "Besides, we already determined he was lying about what he saw. Is there something else you think you can get from him?"

"Why isn't Arthur at the courthouse?" Stevenson asked.

"You didn't answer my question." Edgeworth scowled.

"You didn't answer mine." Stevenson straightened up and shrugged his shoulders, apparently willing to concede without much argument. "Yesterday, your detective proposed the defendant might not be an abuse victim. Now, we know Arthur didn't witness the murder, but he definitely would have witnessed the abuse, and I'd like him to testify about that."

Edgeworth simply shook his head. "Arthur was taken to the hospital last night after falling and giving himself a concussion. He's resting tod—"

"What?" Alyssa stood up from her chair, both hands clasped together in front of her chest. "What do you mean he went to the hospital? How could you let that happen? Weren't you watching him?"

Edgeworth met her gaze evenly for a moment, and then his lips curled into a smirk. "I find your concern rather odd, Mrs. Coleman."

Alyssa stammered, perplexed, but there was hatred in her eyes. "What do you mean? He's—he's my baby."

"You have a very interesting idea of how to treat your baby." Edgeworth picked up the medical report and handed it to the judge. "I would like to submit this into evidence and draw the court's attention to two pieces in particular."

Edgeworth grabbed an enlarged photo and held it up for Stevenson to see, gesturing to a duo of bruises with his index finger. "These were found during Arthur's examination at the hospital. I spoke with the doctor, and she told me a female hand most likely made these marks, so I called the morgue late last night and had them measure Mr. Coleman's hands. As I suspected, Bruce's hands were too large to have left these bruises. Furthermore, there is the matter of nail marks around the bruises. Bruce's fingernails were trimmed quite short, and even if they were long when these marks were made, they wouldn't have been so thin and curved." Edgeworth turned his eyes toward Alyssa and offered her a very cold smile. "Mrs. Coleman, you have very nice, manicured nails, I believe."

Alyssa stared him down, glaring across the courtroom but summoning a thin veil of tears. "I would never hurt Arthur."

"Well, someone did." Edgeworth pulled out an x-ray next. "Someone has been hurting him for a very long time, and as you can see on this film, they did not treat the injuries they inflicted. Not properly, anyway."

"Objection!" Stevenson shook his head. "You might be able to connect the defendant to the bruises, but you can't prove she was the one who broke his arm."

Edgeworth wagged a finger, briefly considering scolding Stevenson for interrupting. "You're right, I can't. However, as a mother and legal guardian, it was her responsibility to have the injury taken care of. Clearly, it wasn't, and Arthur told me she refused to take him, meaning she was certainly aware of the injury. Evidently, she said a visit to the doctor would put them on the streets, a lie that sent Arthur into hysterics once he realized he had been hospitalized."

"That's not a lie!" Alyssa glared at him, hands clenched into fists and shaking at her sides. "We can't afford to go to the doctor. That's true for all of us, not just him."

"Order!" The judge banged his gavel. "The defendant will desist from making such outbursts in the courtroom, or she will be held in contempt of court."

Edgeworth ignored the judge, staring Alyssa down and replying coolly, "As I said earlier, you have very nice, manicured nails, Alyssa Coleman."

Alyssa seethed but sat down, crossing her arms over her chest and communicating as much loathing as she possibly could without speaking.

"Objection!" Stevenson looked to the judge and gestured across the room. "How do Mrs. Coleman's money management skills play into a murder trial?"

"It's not about the money, Mr. Stevenson." Edgeworth crossed his arms over his chest, allowing his gaze to leave Alyssa in favor of Stevenson. "We have been lead to believe Mrs. Coleman is a victim of abuse who acted in self-defense, yet Arthur Coleman's abuse comes almost exclusively, if not entirely, from his mother. He doesn't ask for her or miss her, he misses his father. He has been taught to give strangers his father's cell phone, not his mother's. He fears retribution for simple mistakes like wetting the bed or dropping a dish, something a blue collar worker would have a hard time encountering during his sixty-hour week of labor. His trauma is deeply ingrained, so much so that he can't control his reactions regardless of who he's with, and that would have to come from someone he spent a great deal of time with."

Edgeworth looked back at Alyssa then, smirking slightly at the burning hatred he saw. He was fine with her throwing a fit—in fact, he was counting on it—and it brought him great satisfaction to expose the nuances of Arthur's behavior he had been ruminating over for days.

"On the night Mr. Coleman was murdered," Edgeworth continued, his voice echoing in the silent chamber, "Arthur was unconsolably hysterical. However, in that haze of panic and grief, he clearly insisted he not be put anywhere near the kitchen. Such a fear seems so… unusual, until one realizes what was stored there." Edgeworth pulled a glass bottle from his pocket, handing it up to the judge to join the medical papers. "Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid, or GHB. Not exactly the best drug for recreational purposes, but perfect for knocking someone out and blurring any memories of the moments leading up to intoxication."

"Objection!" Stevenson spread his arms. "Again, I have to ask, what does this have to do with a murder trial? Even if you did prove the defendant abused her son, it doesn't prove she killed her husband out of anything but self-defense. Furthermore, you haven't actually _proven_ anything regarding abuse. The bruises and fingernail marks could have been left by any female, and the broken bones could have been caused by anyone of either gender. Not being able to afford a doctor is hardly illegal or abusive, and you can't prove any of the instances which bother Arthur were borne from abuse the defendant supposedly inflicted. I won't deny the presence of illegal drugs, but you can't prove they belonged to the defendant or that she knew they were there. You also can't prove the defendant—or anyone, for that matter—used them on Arthur Coleman at any time, let alone on the night of the murder." Stevenson sneered, his lip pulling back as he went in for what he no doubt thought was the kill. "Your theory is intriguing, Mr. Edgeworth, but that's all it is: entertaining conjecture which, if proven, would have nothing to do with the murder."

"Objection!" Edgeworth put his hands down on his desktop, glaring across the courtroom. "Before we even get to the object of proof, for which there is a very simple answer, let's address what bearing this has on the murder trial. If Alyssa Coleman is proven to be the abuser of the household, it takes away the justifiable aspect of _justifiable_ homicide. As the detective so succinctly put it yesterday, you can't shoot someone for shouting at you. If Mr. Coleman was not abusive, what would have possessed him to attack Alyssa on the night of his death? You can't prove he attacked her any more than I can prove when and how the GHB was administered."

"Objection! The burden of proof lies with the prosecution. That is _your_ job, _Prosecutor_ Edgeworth _,_ not mine." Stevenson shrugged, grinning toothily. "Secondly, if Alyssa is proven to be the abuser, that gives Bruce Coleman the perfect motive to attack her. Protecting your children can be a very powerful motivator."

"Objection! This is not a Stand-Your-Ground State. If she was the instigator or did something to provoke Bruce Coleman, she does not have the explicit right to use deadly force in self-defense."

"Objection! This is still all conjecture until you offer some proof, Prosecutor!"

"Objection! You were the one who decided to explore this hypothetical, Stevenson!"

The judge's gavel came down, banging against the wood four or five times as he called for order. "I happen to be very confused by all of this, but I can still see things are going nowhere fast. Gentlemen, is there a point to this arguing?"

Edgeworth and Stevenson stared each other down from across the courtroom. They stood with their hands on their desks, leaning forward slightly, glaring.

"Yes, Your Honor, there is." Edgeworth straightened up slowly and adjusted his vest. "Looking at the physical evidence of the crime scene, it is inconclusive at best that Bruce Coleman ever endangered Alyssa Coleman's life. Thus, we only have her word to go on. Ergo, it's important we determine whether she is of trustworthy character." His eyes narrowed slightly, though he couldn't decide who he wanted to glare at more. "There were no witnesses. This is not a matter of who committed the crime or where or how, but why, and that is significantly more difficult to prove with physical evidence. We have to rely on the available evidence of that which we cannot see, and the point the prosecution is trying to make is that what we can see is very troubling indeed."

Stevenson also straightened up, running a hand through his hair and meeting Edgeworth's gaze unwaveringly. "As much as I hate to admit it, I have to agree, Your Honor. Despite my distaste for Mr. Edgeworth's methods, we do need to find a way outside of physical evidence to prove a motive or lack thereof." He clenched his jaw slightly. "Evidence that is still sound and indisputable, however non-physical it may be."

"Yes, yes, of course, of course." The judge nodded, comprehending the situation no more than he had several minutes prior. "Well, if the two of you agree on the nature of the evidence you are to discuss, then we shall take a ten minute recess to allow you both to gather your thoughts and theories."

Edgeworth heard the gavel go down, and as much as he wanted to continue the silent staredown with Stevenson, he had to make a call before recess was over.

 _Then it's back into the ring._

* * *

 _"_ _When are you coming home? I like Maya… but I miss you, Mr. Edgeworth."_

Edgeworth opened his eyes and exhaled slowly, collecting himself before diving into the second round. "Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" He spread the evidence out on his desk as he spoke, eyes darting from picture to paper and back again. "Alyssa Coleman states she was arguing with her husband over the matter of his alcoholism. It was during this argument that Bruce Coleman, who was an abusive husband and father, became so enraged she feared for her life. She then shot him in self-defense and called the police."

Edgeworth glanced up from the evidence, looking at Stevenson but receiving no argument from the man. Looking back down, he began to speak again. "Alyssa Coleman claims there was a struggle, but the crime scene showed otherwise. There was an overturned bookshelf, a broken mirror, and jewelry scattered on the floor, none of which indicated a struggle."

"Objection!"

"Be patient, Mr. Stevenson." Edgeworth glared. "I would hardly say such a thing without offering further explanation."

Stevenson only sneered. "I wouldn't put it past you, Prosecutor."

Edgeworth smirked briefly, and then he got back to the matter at hand. "Jewelry was scattered across the floor from the dresser to the opposite wall. Now, if this were the door to the room," he put his hand past the left end of his desk, "and my desk were the dresser, the jewelry would be on the floor on the left-hand side. However, in order for it to get there, I would have to sweep the jewelry off my desk with my arm, facing the direction I was sending the jewelry in. This is not likely to happen by accident." Edgeworth put his hands on the desk facing the hypothetical doorway and wall. "If I were shoved into the dresser and hit some of the jewelry, it would not all have fallen and it wouldn't have gone all the way across the room." He turned around. "If I were pushed backward and knocked the jewelry off as I sought to catch myself, the jewelry would have gone no more than a foot away from the dresser."

Edgeworth held up a finger. "Secondly, we have the mirror. It was face down on the ground and shattered, about two feet away from the wall. Its placement is odd, because at first glance, you would assume someone was shoved into the mirror and subsequently knocked it off. However, it's too far from the wall for that to the case, so it must have been picked up. One's next thought would be that someone used the mirror to strike someone else, but there were no head injuries. Furthermore, forensics placed the defendant just inside the door at the moment the shot was fired, but the mirror was on the floor on the opposite side of the dresser. In short, the mirror does not belong there."

Edgeworth inhaled deeply and turned to face Alyssa, putting more of his attention on her than Stevenson, who was surprisingly silent. "Thirdly, the bookshelf that was knocked over. It was against the wall opposite the one the mirror hung on. It was not light or unstable, and it was well outside the range of conflict—again, much too far from the spot where the shot was fired from—and yet it was toppled over. Logically, these three things could not have happened together in a real fight, though they are the kind of organized chaos one finds in a crime scene where the signs of a struggle are faked."

"Yes, yes, I see, I see." The judge nodded gravely. "Prosecutor Edgeworth, why did you not mention this yesterday during the detective's questioning?"

Edgeworth winced slightly. "Ah, as I mentioned, Your Honor, the department has been caught rather off-guard by this case. If you recall, yesterday morning, I did not even have an autopsy report."

"Ah, yes, yes."

Stevenson rolled his eyes, but if he had any accusations, he kept them to himself. For the time being, at least, but Edgeworth was confident the tactic would be employed eventually.

Edgeworth cleared his throat. "So, the mess was fabricated. We have no signs of a struggle, which brings the credibility of the escalation of a fight into question. Alyssa claims she was arguing with her husband about his drinking, however, there were two cases of beer in the fridge. It seems rather unwise to stock your fridge with a substance you want your family rid of."

"Objection!" Stevenson's finger extended accusingly. "You can't prove the defendant is the one who purchased the alcohol."

"Objection!" Edgeworth slammed his hand down on his desk. "She didn't think to dispose of it?"

"Bruce Coleman could have purchased and stored it shortly before the argument, giving her no time to discover it." Stevenson folded his arms over his chest. "Even if he bought the beer during his lunch break or early that morning before his shift, we have no idea when the defendant last had a chance to look in the fridge."

 _Well, that's absolute nonsense._ But Edgeworth let it slide. He had enough that he could give Stevenson little victories here and there to throw him off-balance. "Fair enough. So, let's say they really were arguing about alcohol. We still have to question the façade of a struggle, and while we're at it, let's talk about the murder itself."

Edgeworth braced his arms against the desk and leaned forward slightly, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Bruce Coleman was found propped against the foot of the bed with a single gunshot wound to the chest. Forensics tell us the defendant was six to eight feet away from the victim when she shot him. At that distance, I would first question why the defendant didn't simply turn around and run, but _more importantly—_ " He held his hand up, having anticipated Stevenson's reaction. "More importantly, we have to ask why the body is sitting against the bed. If there was a distance between them, Bruce Coleman would have had to try closing that distance in some way. If such was the case, his body should have fallen forward due to momentum. Supposing there was enough force in the bullet to knock him backwards, he would have struck his head on the bed and fallen on the floor on his back or side. Instead, he was seated—rather neatly, I might add—at the foot of the bed."

Stevenson narrowed his eyes, but Edgeworth wasn't quite done.

"This brings the endangerment of the defendant's life into question. Lastly, we have the recent evidence submitted regarding the nature of the household abuse. If necessary, we can interview Arthur Coleman, but I should think the evidence presented thus far should be enough. Alyssa abused her son but bears no signs of physical abuse herself. Her behavior doesn't match that of a battered woman's. So, let's look at the opening statement." He cleared his throat and read straight from his files. "'Alyssa Coleman states she was arguing with her husband over the matter of his alcoholism. It was during this argument that Bruce Coleman, who was an abusive husband and father, became so enraged she feared for her life. She then shot him in self-defense and called the police.'" He put his notes down and looked at Stevenson and Alyssa in turn. "If we look at the evidence, there are really only two parts of the testimony that haven't come under scrutiny. Alyssa Coleman was arguing with her husband about his alcoholism, and she shot him prior to calling the police. That, Your Honor, is not a scenario of justifiable homicide."

The judge nodded rapidly. "Ah, yes, yes. I see. Well, does the defense have a rebuttal?"

Stevenson looked at Edgeworth for a long time, and then a grin started to twist the corner of his mouth. Edgeworth was once again reminded of a shark as the black-haired attorney chuckled to himself.

"Motive."

Edgeworth arched a brow. "I beg your pardon?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he realized his mistake. He tensed, shock spilling over onto his facial features, fists clenching behind the desk.

"You haven't established a motive. You brought the motive of self-defense into question. You hounded on it, in fact, but you haven't given a reason why Alyssa Coleman would want to murder her husband. He was a source of income and rarely had to be dealt with, given his hours. He could serve as free child care from time to time, and if you're correct about him not being abusive, well… what reason would she have to murder him in cold blood?"

Edgeworth cursed himself, teeth clenching as he struggled to find even a vague idea of a motive. Stevenson was right in what he said, and the only things Edgeworth could think of didn't make any more sense than what had already been listed. _Life insurance, perhaps? I could look into it, but what are the chances his life insurance policy is worth more than she would get from his steady and prolonged income? Interested in another man, perhaps? But why kill Bruce? Why not just leave him and Arthur and elope? They live in an apartment, it's not as if they own the property. Nothing of value would have changed hands as a result of Bruce Coleman's death.  
_

"Prosecutor Edgeworth?" the judge blinked, eyes wide and ever-confused. "Do you know what the defendant's motive was?"

Edgeworth wet his lip, grinding his teeth together once the muscle was back inside. "Regrettably… the prosecution does not have… a theory at this time." He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to get his frazzled brain back into gear. "It's something I intend to remedy as quickly as possible. However, we can hardly end the trial." He narrowed his eyes at the duo across from him. "I may not have a motive, but the motive the defense is trying to present is clearly invalid."

"Hmm, yes, yes." The judge nodded a few more times, and then he banged his gavel down. "We will adjourn for the day and reconvene tomorrow. I recommend the defense and prosecution both consider the aspect of motive very carefully."

"Yes, Your Honor." Edgeworth glared at Stevenson.

"Yes, Your Honor." Stevenson glared right back.

 _Tomorrow is the last day. You're insane if you think I'll let that monster walk away, let alone with Arthur. Mark my words, Stevenson, this is a fight you will regret picking. And rest assured, Alyssa Coleman, you'll have a fine collection of regrets as well once I'm done with you._

That, he promised.


	8. Chapter 8

Edgeworth wasn't sure exactly what he expected to find when he got home from the courthouse. He thought, perhaps, he might find delirious children and a house in disarray. He thought, perhaps, he would find an awful lot of noise and an awful lot of complaints from the neighbors. He thought a lot of things, but none of them were remotely close to what he actually found when he stepped over the threshold.

It was as if his home had gone completely uninhabited since he left earlier that morning. There were no toys, no crayon marks on the walls, no evidence of a food fight. It was quiet—eerily so—the only sound being that of the TV in the living room. It sounded like a cartoon of some sort, the dynamic musical themes and sound effects striking him as familiar.

 _The Steel Samurai._

Smiling slightly, Edgeworth approached the living room and leaned in the archway. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the duo on the couch, though his attention was mostly on Arthur.

Arthur was curled up on the couch and wrapped in a blanket, sound asleep. He was snoring softly, dark circles lingering beneath his closed eyes. His hand hung over the edge of the cushion, and Pess was curled up on the floor right beneath, waiting patiently for him to wake up and pet her some more.

"Hey, Mr. Edgeworth." Maya sat up on her end of the couch and stretched her arms over her head, yawning. "I wasn't really asleep. I was just resting."

Edgeworth smiled a little wider, not knowing if he believed her but finding he didn't care. His house was intact, and Arthur looked content. He didn't need much more than that to be satisfied with the care she had provided.

"Thank you very much. Just one more day, and then this whole mess will be behind us."

Edgeworth stared at her, unsure as to what he was supposed to do or say. He had never relieved a babysitter before. He intended to pay her, but she had already refused twice, so he would have to do that in a more underhanded way. He couldn't do anything underhanded while she was standing in front of him, so what was he supposed to do instead?

Maya didn't give him the chance to think it over much, her lip finding itself wedged between her teeth as worry filled her eyes. "Mr. Edgeworth… what's going to happen to Arthur?"

Edgeworth opened his mouth slowly, and despite the fact that he had spent a large part of his day asking the same question, he still didn't like the taste of the answer on his tongue. "He will be handed over to the state. They will put him in foster care or an orphanage. He'll get placed with a good family."

Maya grimaced, looking at him with a mixture of affront and concern. She clearly felt insulted by his insinuation that she would buy the optimistic scenario, but more than that, she was afraid for Arthur. Her gaze lingered for a long time, her hands clasped together in front of her chest.

"He's a great kid."

Edgeworth nodded solemnly, joining her in her intent observation of the boy on the couch. "I know. He's very gentle, even outside of his… survival instincts and fear of retribution."

Maya looked back at him, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. "Mr. Edgeworth… can't we do something?"

Edgeworth let out a heavy sigh and dropped his arms to his sides, pushing off the wall. "Thank you for your help today, Maya, but I would like to spend the rest of the day with Arthur, if you don't mind."

Maya blinked a few times and then lowered her eyes. She wiped away her tears and sniffed, straightening up with a smile on her face. "Don't have too much fun, okay? You gotta be in tip-top shape tomorrow."

Edgeworth offered a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We'll be careful."

Maya trotted toward the door, casting one last look over her shoulder before disappearing through the doorway.

Edgeworth watched her leave, and then he crossed the room to the couch. He sat down on the end opposite of Arthur, a fond smile lingering on his lips.

 _He looks so peaceful. He spends far too much time with fear on his face._ Reaching out, Edgeworth brushed Arthur's greasy bangs back out of his eyes. _How could anyone hurt such a precious boy?_

Edgeworth had experienced his fair share of bruises and demeaning lectures as a child, but he was a difficult child. He didn't like following rules, and he made entirely too much noise, and he was so particular about everything being just so, and—

Edgeworth shook his head. _Arthur isn't like that. Alyssa has no excuse._ He stroked Arthur's bangs again, a slight twist in his gut. _He won't survive foster care._ Or he would, and Edgeworth would be prosecuting him in the future. _He's so fragile._

But what could Edgeworth do? He didn't know anyone who was looking to expand their family. Outside of work, he didn't really know anyone at all. He didn't have any connections in the foster care system, and none of his political connections would do him any good.

He had, of course, had _that_ thought.

He had, for a very brief moment in time, considered the possibility of adopting Arthur himself. He had entertained the idea of homeschooling so Arthur could stay close, so his environment would be safe and predictable and in familiar hands. He had conceptualized a scenario where he could rely on Maya, Phoenix, and even Gumshoe to pitch in when he needed them to.

Very, very, _very_ briefly, he tossed the notion over in his head.

"Hnn…" Arthur moved his head underneath Edgeworth's hand, his own fingers coming up to grasp Edgeworth's sleeve. "Mr. Edgeworth… you're home…"

Mumbled though the words may have been, Arthur was wearing a sleepy smile, and the contented look on his face tugged Edgeworth's lips upward as well.

"I only just arrived. I didn't mean to wake you."

Arthur sat up and shook his head slightly, rubbing his temples shortly thereafter. "No, it's okay. I wanna be awake." He yawned, leaning against the back of the couch and peering up at his temporary guardian. "Is… did you make Mommy go away?"

Edgeworth shook his head, wearing an uncertain, tight smile. "No, Arthur. We still have some things to discuss. We'll conclude the trial tomorrow."

Arthur blinked slowly. "Huh?"

"We'll bring it to a close." Edgeworth stroked Arthur's hair again and then withdrew his hand, kicking off his shoes and leaning back with a sigh. "I'm glad you mentioned this, though. We do need to talk about what will happen if your mother is convicted."

Arthur ducked his head and started to chew on his lip.

"Lip." Edgeworth reached out and tugged on Arthur's chin, pulling the skin free. "Do you know of any extended family we could reach out to, Arthur?"

Arthur shook his head. "Mom doesn't like her family. I don't know if they're around anymore… and Daddy never talked about his." He twisted his hands in the blankets covering him. "I know you have to… do your job, Mr. Edgeworth, but…" He looked up with glassy eyes, lips pulling back as he fought the urge to cry. "I really don't wanna go to foster care, Mr. Edgeworth!"

Edgeworth sighed softly and pulled Arthur closer. It was a bit awkward, trying to get Arthur turned around and comfortable, but soon he was nestled against Edgeworth's chest.

"I know you don't." He stroked Arthur's hair softly, having discovered in the hours following the hospital trip that it was very comforting for Arthur. "But I don't know what else I can do."

"Can't you… can't you just…" Arthur gestured with his hands, but he didn't seem to have an ending to his sentence in mind. Instead, he trailed off into more tears and held on tight.

Edgeworth swallowed, hardly able to stand the twist in his gut, every cry from the boy on his lap sending another knife into his chest. "It's going to be okay, Arthur. I don't know how, just yet, but it will be. I promise. I will make sure everything is okay."

Arthur didn't say anything, but he nodded his head against Edgeworth's chest, his tears slowly soaking into the white button-down.

 _Somehow… somehow, everything has got to be okay._

* * *

Arthur looked up from his hot tea, still sniffing from his earlier tears, and watched Mr. Edgeworth pace around the kitchen with a phone to his ear. He didn't seem to be upset, per se, but he was definitely rushed. He did a specific gesture with his hand, Arthur had realized, when he was hurried; he rolled it, sort of, as if physically trying to make the conversation go faster.

"No, I understand." Edgeworth nodded. "Yes, of course." He nodded again. "Mm-hmm." Nod, nod, nod. "Yes, and I appreciate the effort you are expending at this particular moment on my behalf, but I really need those files in my inbox. I have less than twenty-four hours to find a motive, and financial documents tend to be a large part of that."

Arthur sipped his drink again, licking his lips as the warm substance settled in his tummy. He loved the mint flavor Mr. Edgeworth made, especially when Mr. Edgeworth added a little extra honey.

 _I wonder what a motif is._ Sipping again, Arthur continued to witness one side of the conversation. _I know he's asking about Mom._ He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about the final day of the trial. _He's smart. He'll figure out what mom did._ Not that Arthur knew for sure she had done it. He had been unconscious, after all. But… he knew.

 _Mr. Edgeworth knows, too._

"Yes, thank you. Thank you very much. I really, truly do appreciate this." Edgeworth hung up and sat down in front of his computer, fingers tapping away at the keys in seconds. "Hopefully, it won't take too long to get here. How's the tea?"

It took a moment for Arthur to realize the question was directed at him, and he startled a bit before replying. "It's good. Um, thank you. It's… I really like it."

Mr. Edgeworth smiled softly—something he had begun to do rather frequently, Arthur noticed—and nodded his head. "Good. Perhaps I can take a break when you're done with that, and you and I can do something together."

Arthur smiled weakly, but it didn't last. He was still thinking about his mother, about the murder, and about his fate if she was found guilty. He didn't want to be alone, and if he had to get a new family, he didn't want it to be made up of strangers.

"Arthur…" Mr. Edgeworth seemed like he had more to say, but he stopped himself.

Instead, he let out a soft, sad kind of sigh and got to his feet. He clapped his hands together and flashed a quick smile.

"Come on, Arthur. Let's play cards."

Arthur blinked a few times and sniffed. "I don't know any card games."

Mr. Edgeworth only smiled again. "I'll teach you. We can start with Gin. How does that sound?"

Arthur stared for a moment, but he soon caught his caretaker's smile, and then it was all he could do to keep from laughing. "Okay, Mr. Edgeworth!"

* * *

"It's Edgeworth, right? Miles Edgeworth? I'm Tasha Clarke."

Edgeworth extended his hand and offered the obligatory, congenial smile. "Yes, Edgeworth is correct. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Clarke." He gestured to the apartment behind her, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"Oh!" Tasha stepped back and extended a hand toward the cluttered apartment. "Yes, please, come in. Uh, sorry about the mess." She started to clean up as she spoke, mostly toys along with a few blankets, trying to create a path to the kitchen area. "Jack is at school right now, but I worked a double yesterday, and I haven't had the time to clean up—"

"It's really alright." Edgeworth laughed softly, crouching down and gathering a few cars into his hands. "Arthur Coleman has been staying with me since the murder, and he is a handful. I am starting to understand a bit of the perpetual mess aspect of children."

Tasha straightened up and continued into the kitchen, a smile lighting her features. "He's with you? Oh, that's wonderful! He's such a sweet kid."

Edgeworth smiled, placing the cars in a plastic bin of toys and continuing after her. "He is, indeed." Edgeworth sat down at the table and cleared his throat again. "Miss Clarke—"

"Oh, Tasha, please." She bustled around the kitchen, grabbing mismatched mugs and filling an old kettle with water.

Edgeworth nodded slowly. "Very well, Tasha." He paused, folding his arms and setting them atop the table. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about Alyssa Coleman."

Tasha nodded her head, carrying the empty mugs and a tray of various teabags over to the table. "I don't know how much help I can be. Alyssa and I didn't know each other all that well. Her apartment is directly across from mine, and Jack is about the same age as Arthur, so they played together a lot, but…"

Edgeworth grabbed the first mint teabag he saw, tearing it open and putting the bag in his cup. "You would be surprised how much you might find you know about her." He paused to find a trashcan and, upon locating one, threw out the packet. "How would you describe Alyssa Coleman? Let's say, to someone interested in living on the same floor as the two of you."

"Uh, well…" Tasha chewed on her lip, lifting the kettle from the stove just as it began to whistle. "She's standoffish. She's the kind of person you tolerate for small talk, but you don't want to be close friends with. She's… loud in a… jarring, grating kind of way. She always has something negative to say. I…" She trailed off, pouring the water in each of the mugs. "I feel terrible saying this, but she really isn't a… nice… person."

"Just be honest about what you've observed. Murder cases are hardly the time for niceties." Edgeworth added some sugar to his tea, and while he preferred milk along with it, he thought it would be rude to ask. So, he sipped it the way it was, using her ongoing explanation of Alyssa's character to do his own quick assessment of Miss Clarke herself.

She was fairly tanned, and when she sat the teabags down, he had noticed callouses on her hands. She was a hard worker, most likely had a blue collar job, and was probably a fan of the great outdoors. She didn't belong in a city apartment, and he wondered if that might be worth questioning later on. Her dark brown hair was cut short, wisps hanging around her tired, emerald eyes and heavily pierced ears. He was certain she didn't notice, but she was still wearing an apron, which he suspected was from a job she had waitressing.

"…I really don't know what else I can tell you."

Edgeworth sipped his beverage again and smiled. "You're doing just fine. I, ah, was actually hoping you might be able to tell me more about Alyssa as a mother. We've found evidence of abuse on Arthur, some of which is directly linked to a female offender. I have my own suspicions, but I don't exactly know the woman, and I don't want to arrive at the wrong conclusion."

"Abuse? That's… that's terrible." Tasha stuck her thumbnail in her mouth and chewed for a moment. "If I would have suspected Alyssa of anything, it would be neglect. She… she didn't want anything to do with Arthur. I think it was Bruce's idea to keep him." She sat down and wrapped her hands around her mug. "I tried to spend time with him. I really did. I would invite him over, and I tried to get him to play outside with Jack, but I work two jobs, and—"

Edgeworth shook his head and held up a hand. "Miss—Tasha, it is not your responsibility to care for Arthur. You did what you could, I'm sure."

Tasha glanced down, and it seemed his words weren't enough to ease her guilt, but she returned to the matter at hand without argument. "Um, abuse. I wouldn't have suspected it, but it doesn't surprise me, either. Alyssa always talked about running off and living the single life again. She cared more about parties and cute clothes than being a wife and mom. You couldn't confront her about it, though." Tasha sipped her tea and shook her head emphatically. "You couldn't confront her about much of anything—not if you didn't want to unleash a drama tsunami."

"She was a confrontational person, then?" Edgeworth could have surmised that from the short time he had known her, but his opinion didn't much matter to the court. "It wasn't just with her husband?"

"Oh, no, definitely not." Tasha twisted her lips and scowled a bit. "Bruce definitely got the worst of it, though. I always kinda hoped he would take Arthur and leave her, but…" She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it didn't happen."

Edgeworth let out a soft sigh, concealing the true amount of exasperation he felt toward the situation. "No, it certainly didn't." He took a small sip of tea and straightened up a bit. "I would like to hear your statement of what you heard on the night of the murder. I'll have more questions after that, I'm sure, but we can cross that bridge when we get there."

Tasha nodded her head, but there was a hesitance in her voice when she spoke again. "I, um… I've never been good at… talking in front of people. Is that—I mean, what's it like?"

"Just tell the truth." Edgeworth gave her a smile, though he felt it may have come across as more of a smirk. "If you speak the truth, I can take it from there."


	9. Chapter 9

Edgeworth was starting to sweat, and no matter how hard he tried to appear calm, he could only conceal the rising panic for so long. It was the final day of the trial, and he still had no idea what Alyssa's motive was. He had called Tasha Clarke to the stand, and she had testified regarding Alyssa's less than family friendly behavior, but all it did was solidify the fact that Alyssa was the household abuser. It made Alyssa look less credible, certainly, but it wasn't a motive.

Because Edgeworth couldn't _find_ a motive.

Stevenson didn't even need to dispute that Alyssa was abusive. It didn't matter that she beat her child—that was a different charge for a different crime, which meant it would get a different trial—and it didn't matter that she wasn't the victim of ongoing abuse. What mattered was means, motive, and opportunity.

Despite what the song said, two out of three was very bad. It wasn't enough, but Edgeworth had no motive to give. He had searched the house, recovered financial documents, called Bruce's place of business—nothing.

"Well, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth glanced toward the judge and then met Stevenson's gaze from across the room. "I believe…" He was running out of time, he had no witnesses to call, and no evidence to submit to the court. "I believe the defendant's motive…"

What? What could have prompted Alyssa, after eight years of accepting her life with Bruce and Arthur, to suddenly commit first degree murder? Even if it had been second degree, it made no sense. Why wouldn't she just run away or file for divorce? Why would she choose such a drastic way to end her life as a wife and mother?

"Sometime today, if you could, Prosecutor Edgeworth."

 _Think. Think about it from the very beginning. Bruce came home drunk, Alyssa chose to kill him. Why?_ His brow creased slightly. _Why was he drunk? I assumed, because he drank regularly, that it was part of his regular routine, but what if it wasn't? What would have prompted him to drink? Was it positive or negative?_

Edgeworth could only come up with vague reasons on the negative spectrum: a hard day at work, a headache, a bounced check, a pile of bills, a heat wave, and so on. Nothing on that list was worth murder. If Bruce were drinking because of fighting with Alyssa, it wouldn't have left Alyssa feeling hurt or betrayed in any way. Given her distaste for her family, she probably welcomed the chance to verbally kick them into a corner, regardless of who started the argument.

No, none of those were right. Positive?

 _Positive. Think positive, what would have been cause for celebration? Birthdays?_ Edgeworth briefly recalled the birth dates of Bruce, Alsysa, and Arthur. _No. No holidays. If he got a raise or promotion, it would further Alyssa's access to money, which removes that as a motive. If there was an engagement among extended relatives for either party, it wouldn't provide a motive for murder._

Edgeworth kept his expression blank, neurons firing a million times a second, trying desperately to come up with something. _What was Bruce passionate about? What did he enjoy?_ Nothing worth killing over, that was certain. Bruce Coleman was an average Joe. He worked an average job, with an average income and apartment, who enjoyed average hobbies. There was nothing earth-shattering about his hunting license or his poker night.

 _What would Wright do?_ Edgeworth resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and find his rival's face in the crowd. _There isn't a pet bird to interrogate here. How would he turn it around?_ He closed his eyes briefly. _He always latches on to the smallest, most insignificant detail and beats it to death until it makes sense. Come on, come on… what about Bruce is worth killing over? All he did was go to work and—_

"It seems Mr. Edgeworth has run out of things to say, Your Honor." Stevenson smiled, slick as ever, and braced his arms on his desk. "Mr. Edgeworth, is that the case?"

Edgeworth narrowed his eyes and put his hands on his own desk, leaning forward slightly and snarling his reply, "Hardly."

The judge cleared his throat from above. "Ahem, yes, well… do you plan to share, Prosecutor Edgeworth?"

 _There's something in the beginning of the case I'm missing. What happened before he went out drinking? What would have made her—_

"Mr. Edgew—"

"The Prosecution calls Alyssa Coleman to the stand." Edgeworth shifted his gaze from Stevenson to Alyssa, gritting his teeth slightly. "I want you to testify about why you and your husband were fighting the night of his death."

"Objection!" Stevenson pointed across the courtroom. "We already know why she was fighting with the victim. He was drinking, something she had repeatedly told him not to do, and they argued about it."

Edgeworth shook his head, eyes narrowing a bit further. "No. Establishing Alyssa as the abusive member of the household might not give us a motive, but it does tell us she had no reason to ask Bruce to curb his drinking. She keeps alcohol in the house, remember? She wasn't truly dedicated to his sobriety, certainly not enough to start a fight so loud the neighbors could hear it."

Stevenson opened his mouth to speak, but the judge cut him off, doing that typical, wide-eyed, utterly clueless nod.

"Yes, yes… I see. I will allow it."

"Your Honor—!"

"I will allow it."

Edgeworth allowed the smallest of smirks to pull at the corner of his mouth. He didn't know where he was going with his argument just yet, but he knew he was on the right path.

If only because he felt like someone was choking him, and Wright usually _looked_ like someone was choking him right before he blew Edgeworth's case to pieces.

Edgeworth straightened up slightly and cleared his throat, addressing Alyssa after she had stepped onto the stand. "Defendant, please state your name and occupation for the court."

Alyssa stood with her hip to the side, oozing nonchalance and pride, hot pink nails drumming on the stand railing. Her other arm was tucked neatly under her cleavage, blonde waves falling around her shoulders and tangling in the large, golden hoops she wore.

"Alyssa Coleman. Unemployed."

Edgeworth inhaled slowly but discreetly. _I have to do this quick, and I have to get it right. I'm running out of chances. If I am to keep Arthur away from her, I have to stop her here and now._ He was terrified of what Alyssa would do if she had access to Arthur between being cleared of murder and being on trial for abuse and neglect charges.

Edgeworth cleared his throat again and glanced down at his papers. "Mrs. Coleman, I want you to testify to the court about the argument you had with your husband on the night you shot him."

Alyssa rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly. "I already told you. Bruce came home drunk. I told him not to do that anymore, and he ignored me, like he always did. I was angry, so we fought. That's all there is to it."

The judge nodded a few times. "Yes, I see. I see. The prosecution may ask question the defendant."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

Edgeworth searched Alyssa's face for a moment, not realizing how much he truly despised her until he saw how much she simply _didn't care_.

Edgeworth wet his lips and reread the statement he had written, practically able to hear her voice echoing in his head. "Hold it!" He forced some of his anger down and brought out the cool, level-headed composure he needed to keep her out from under his skin. "You keep alcohol in the house even though you want your husband to remain sober?"

Alyssa only shrugged, one brow sliding upward. "I never said I don't drink."

Edgeworth pursed his lips and nodded in concession. "I'll give you that. It doesn't explain why you kept such a large quantity in plain sight."

"I shouldn't have to drink warm beer from a secret stash because Bruce has no impulse control." Alyssa looked down at her nails, polished them on her shirt, and inspected them again. "It's not my problem."

Edgeworth frowned slightly, but there was an almost curious tone to his voice when he spoke. "That doesn't seem like a very good way to maintain a healthy relationship. Especially when it seems Bruce cared about your problems quite a bit. You stayed at home all day eating bonbons while he worked sixty hours a week—hard, back-breaking work. Are you telling me he did that for himself?"

Alyssa tensed slightly, a new anger flashing through her eyes before she blinked it away. "Bruce might have worked a lot, but he didn't do it for me. He did it for himself and, as you might have guessed, his habit."

Edgeworth chuckled softly and gestured to hand she was still inspecting. "It didn't go to your manicures? Or your designer shoes? Or your jewelry and make-up and the bills you should have been contributing to with your own income?"

"Objection!" Stevenson slammed a hand down on the desk. "Your Honor, I don't see the relevance of this line of questioning. He is not establishing a motive."

"Yes, I see." The judge nodded—as he was so very, very prone to do—and looked at Edgeworth. "Can you tell me where you're going with this?"

Edgeworth smirked and nodded. "I can, Your Honor. I believe the defendant is lying about the true nature of the argument she had with the victim. If I'm right, it's possible the true source of conflict contains or is related to the motive for murder."

The judge hummed and nodded a few more times. "Hmm… proceed."

Alyssa glared at Edgeworth.

Edgeworth grinned back.

"Mrs. Coleman, you testified that, 'I was angry, so we fought. That's all there is to it.' But I fail to see how an argument over drinking habits could lead to murder. We've already established a significant doubt on the idea of self-defense, so what reason would you have to pull the trigger?"

Alyssa smirked at him, red lips curling. "I believe that's your question to answer, Mr. Prosecutor. I'm hardly going to establish my motive for you."

Edgeworth narrowed his eyes slightly, but there was still a hint of a smile on his lips. "No, I wouldn't expect you to. But something inspired you to pull that trigger, and if it wasn't self-defense, it would have been something related to the argument. There's no evidence to suggest you were so passionate about his drinking that this could have been the trigger."

"Well, Mr. Prosecutor, you seem to have all the answers. Do you want to tell me what I must have been fighting with my husband about?"

Edgeworth stared her down for a moment, searching her eyes for any sign of innocence, guilt, regret—even panic would have given her an appearance of something resembling humanity—but there was nothing. There was nothing at all, and Edgeworth scrambled to think of what Alyssa and Bruce would have disagreed on the most, because she was _not_ going to walk.

He would die first.

"You fought about Arthur."

Alyssa grit her teeth and bit down on one of her precious nails, the answer clearly hitting a weak spot. "Excuse me?"

"You disagreed the most about Arthur. You weren't exactly mother-of-the-year, but Bruce loved being a father. Miss Clarke testified earlier that she believed it was Bruce's idea to keep Arthur. Do you deny that?"

Alyssa drummed her fingers rapidly, fire in her eyes. She didn't say anything, her breathing somewhat heavier, every muscle in her body made of stone. He was getting very close to the heart of the problem, and her mask of superiority was crumbling fast.

 _But she isn't going to admit to anything on her own. I have to figure out what it was, specifically, and walk her through it. I have to make her feel that anger again, or she'll keep her cool and lie her way off the stand._ Edgeworth glanced down at his papers, the photos of Arthur's wounds catching his eye.

 _She hates him. She wants nothing to do with him. Bruce wanted to keep him._ That didn't help him understand what they would have argued about in the present day, though. _Arthur is nine years old. She's used to it. Something new must have come into the picture. Did Bruce want to try for another one? Did she say no? Rape, maybe? That would be a good motive, but there's no indication of Bruce being abusive, sexually or otherwise. Furthermore, rape would have come up in the original claims of self-defense if there were any physical evidence to support it._

Edgeworth's eyes widened slightly, his gaze slowly traveling up to Alyssa's face.

 _He didn't have to force her. They didn't have to try at all. There's only so much birth control can do. It's been nine years—something was bound to malfunction eventually._

His lips parted before he even realized what he was going to say, but all the pieces were falling into place. It was a bit of a long shot, maybe, but when had a case of his ever been straightforward? Besides, it made _sense._ It was the first motive he had come across that actually made _sense,_ and that was all he needed.

"Alyssa Coleman, you are pregnant."

Alyssa bit down on her nail hard enough to snap the false tip off.

Edgeworth didn't give her a chance to argue, a surge of excitement rushing through him as he began to understand. "Bruce was drunk because he was out celebrating the news you had given him. You waited at home, drugging Arthur so he was well out of the way, setting up the bedroom with signs of a struggle, loading the gun. It was a simple matter of getting him to walk back the hall and into his room, shooting him, and calling the police." Edgeworth shook his head, an almost disbelieving smirk on his face. "He never saw it coming."

Alyssa stared him down. "You can't prove any of that."

Edgeworth's grin broadened slightly. "Can't I? We can run a pregnancy test and find out if that portion of my scenario is right. We can call Bruce's drinking buddies and the bartenders to the stand and have them testify about Bruce's reasons for drinking that night. What do you think they're going to say?"

Alyssa gripped the stand railing, nails digging into the lacquer. "Fine. I'm pregnant. But—"

"Please change your testimony to reflect that."

Alyssa practically growled, dark brown eyes growing darker still as time ticked by. "I told Bruce I was pregnant. He went out to drink. When he came back, we fought about it." She inhaled slowly to calm herself and smirked like a devil. "But that is all you can prove."

"Objection!" Edgeworth wagged his finger. "Not so, Mrs. Coleman. By adjusting your testimony, you admitted to your own motive." He gestured to the slender woman on the stand. "You're not showing. You don't look pregnant in any way, which is why it took me so long to figure it out. Looking at you, looking at your house, even talking to your son, there is nothing to indicate you being with child. You could have gotten an abortion without ever telling Bruce, and he would have been none the wiser. You knew he would want to keep the baby, but you told him anyway. You told him because you _wanted_ him to fight."

Alyssa had the decency to look surprised, but it lasted no more than a second. Her head slowly lowered, hair coming down to shade her face. Her hands shook at her sides, her breathing grew more labored, and then—

Alyssa jerked her head up, any semblance of control gone, screaming with so much rage and _hatred,_ Edgeworth wasn't sure how she had lived with it for so many years. She slammed her fists down on the stand and shrieked into the open court.

"He had no right! I never wanted Arthur, but Bruce made me keep him. He ruined my _life!_ I was going to go somewhere, be something, be _someone_ , and he _took_ that from me!"

Edgeworth folded his arms over his chest, unimpressed. "Did he lock you up for the entire duration of your pregnancy?"

"He was going to _leave_ me if I got an abortion." Alyssa's shoulders were heaving, hair in disarray around her features. "He was my only source of money!"

Edgeworth only chuckled and shook his head, his tone thick with condescension. "Do you expect sympathy? He didn't force you. You could have left him. You chose to stay and have Arthur. You know who didn't get to choose?" Edgeworth held up a picture of the crime scene. "Bruce didn't get to choose." He held up the pictures of Arthur's battered, mistreated body. "Arthur didn't get to choose." He pointed an accusatory finger right at her. "You're going to try very hard—and I promise you won't succeed—to keep the child inside you now from choosing."

Edgeworth inhaled deeply, every last spark of pent-up anger bursting out through his raised voice and the hands he slammed on his desk. "You see, Alyssa, when you _force_ someone, you remove their ability to choose. When you grab someone by the shoulders and dig your nails into their skin, you are forcing that injury on them. When you drug them, kick them, beat them, lock them away, or _shoot_ them, you are forcing them to endure pain. _That_ is what it means to force someone. That is what it feels like to not have a choice."

Alyssa's anger seemed to fizzle out, and Edgeworth could have sworn he saw her smile a little at his lecture. She ran her tongue over her lip and snorted. "How like a man."

"I assure you, my gender has nothing to do with this."

Alyssa only stared back, grinning to herself, pleased. She might have lost her freedom, but there was a sick satisfaction in what she had accomplished.

Edgeworth realized, a bit sick to his stomach, that her delight could only come from the fact that Arthur was still suffering. It didn't matter that Bruce was dead and could no longer feel. It didn't matter that she was going to be behind bars for the rest of her life, possibly executed. It didn't even matter that she had lost the argument—she wasn't even trying all that hard to win.

What mattered was that Arthur was going to live with the trauma and pain she had inflicted for the rest of his life. She would be able to hurt him no matter where she was, even if she was six feet under the earth. Edgeworth would do all he could to lessen the pain, but he couldn't take it away—not all of it, not completely. No one could.

Edgeworth cleared his throat and glanced across the room at Stevenson, who had already started packing his files. "Does the defense have anything to add?"

Stevenson shook his head, and there was something unsatisfying with his lack of frustration over losing. "No. I have nothing else to say."

 _Then again, he isn't Wright. He doesn't care about innocence, he only cares about getting paid. She was never anything more than a paycheck to him, and he's got more cases to worry about._

Edgeworth looked up at the judge and waited, his stomach churning in a combination of nervousness, anger, and adrenaline. He couldn't imagine the judge was going to let her walk, even without a clear-cut confession, but if he did, Edgeworth wasn't sure he would be able to keep from launching himself at the man.

"In the light of everything presented in this courtroom, I find the defendant… guilty."

Edgeworth let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and the gavel came down.

It was finally over.

* * *

Edgeworth tapped the steering wheel as he drove, occasionally glancing to the right to see if Arthur had stopped staring blankly out the window. Arthur hadn't, of course—he hadn't been in touch with reality since the trial—and the rain beating on the glass did little to lighten the atmosphere.

Edgeworth was immensely grateful that Wright had pulled Arthur from the gallery when things started to go south, but Arthur had heard enough. On top of that, he had just been orphaned, and according to the social worker who found them in the prosecutor's lounge, he had an hour to pack his things before it was time to go.

It was almost time for Arthur to _leave_ , and Edgeworth felt sick.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his palms were sweaty, and his hands were shaking against the wheel. His throat was tight, a solid lump right in the middle of it, and it seemed like the air in the car was too stale to breathe. He was nauseous. He had a headache. He was tired.

"What's gonna happen to the baby?"

Edgeworth glanced at the passenger seat and sighed softly. He was glad Arthur had finally said something, but he had no idea how to address the question. "I don't know yet, Arthur. I'll do what I can to protect him or her, though." He smiled lightly, a flicker of warmth in his chest. "You're very kind to be thinking of the baby right now. I know… I know you're in a lot of pain, too. Today was a hard day."

Arthur didn't look away from the window, and it seemed he was going to lapse back into silence. His lips started to move, but all he did was sigh. Sniffling, he opened his mouth and tried again.

"Mr. Edgeworth, how much longer?"

"Less than two minutes. It's just up ahead on the left." Edgeworth tried to keep his frown inward, but the question bothered him. He knew Arthur knew where they were. "Do you… want me to help you get everything together?" His gut twisted even as he said it.

Arthur shook his head, not a single emotion crossing his face.

Edgeworth exhaled softly, and seventy-seven seconds later, he was pulling into the driveway and putting the car in park. He rubbed his face and opened his mouth, ready to make another attempt at conversation, but Arthur got out and shut the door.

Head bowed, Arthur ambled up the stairs to the front door and waited, not bothering to look at Edgeworth or encourage him to move faster. Normally, he would. He would take the steps two at a time, and when he got to the top, he would bounce on his toes while he waited for Edgeworth to catch up.

But it wasn't a normal day, so Arthur stood still and kept quiet, waiting patiently for Edgeworth to join him and unlock the door.

Edgeworth got out of the car and let the door swing shut behind him, walking up the steps and pushing his key into the lock. He gave it a twist, and Arthur let himself in, pushing past Edgeworth without a single word. They both kicked their shoes off, and Arthur disappeared up the steps as quickly as he could without actually rushing. If it were possible to be sluggish and quick at the same time, Arthur had somehow accomplished it.

Edgeworth hated it. It made him feel sicker, which up until that moment, he hadn't thought possible.

 _I can't pretend I didn't know this was going to happen._ Edgeworth sighed and shut the door behind him, shuffling into the kitchen to put on a kettle of water. He could, at the very least, make Arthur a cup of tea before social services arrived. Arthur loved tea, especially the mint flavors, and it was the perfect day for a warm drink.

 _I knew. I knew this was coming. He has to go. I can't take care of him. This was always meant to be a temporary arrangement._ Edgeworth sighed and put his elbows on the bar, lowering his face into his hands. _He has to go to foster care. He has no extended relatives. What else can I do?_

Of course, he knew what else he could do. He had already had the thought—more than once, the most recent time less than twenty-four hours prior when he relieved Maya from babysitting duty—he simply shut himself down every time it occurred to him.

 _"He's a good kid."_

As if Edgeworth didn't already know that. It wasn't that he _wanted_ Arthur to go into foster care, and it wasn't as if he thought Arthur would be too much trouble to care for. Arthur was a self-reliant, intelligent, kind-hearted child. Arthur wasn't the problem at all.

The problem was Edgeworth. Edgeworth had absolutely no confidence in his ability to raise a child. None.

Edgeworth startled at the sudden whistling by his ear, his body automatically going through the process of preparing tea while his thoughts lingered in his subconscious. He put the two, steaming cups on the table and sat down in front of his, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

He grimaced at the sound, reminded too much of Alyssa's nails clacking against the banister. He laid his hand flat instead and let out a sigh, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his chest.

 _It would be just like me to drop dead from a heart attack at twenty-six._

But he knew it wasn't a heart attack. He couldn't imagine a heart attack hurt any more or less than what he was feeling, but he still knew that wasn't the source of his pain.

"I'm all packed, Mr. Edgeworth."

Edgeworth looked up from his drink and forced a smile, gesturing to the seat across from him. "I made you some tea."

Arthur nodded, but he didn't look up or offer thanks. He sat down at the table and stared vacantly into the liquid, his mind clearly lightyears away.

"Arthur… it's going to be okay."

Arthur blinked rapidly, one hand coming up to brush his eye. "You don't know that."

Edgeworth leaned forward, trying to get Arthur to look him in the eye and failing miserably. "I do, though. I know everything is going to be okay."

Arthur hung his head a little lower and wrapped his arms around himself, a shudder wracking his little body. "What did I do wrong…?"

Edgeworth winced at the stabbing pain in his chest, and he shook his head emphatically. "You didn't do anything, Arthur. I swear you didn't. Your—Alyssa simply… there is some sort of faulty connection in her head. She doesn't—"

"Not her." Arthur bit down on his lip, trying his hardest not to cry. "What did I do… to make you send me away?"

Edgeworth closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, not understanding how he could hurt so much without a single physical injury. It felt like his heart was twisting in his ribcage—like someone was wringing the muscle in the same way they would wring a dishrag to get rid of excess water—and he could hardly breathe through the pressure.

"Oh, Arthur, you didn't do anything wrong. You are a wonderful little boy, and these past three days have been amazing. I love having you here." It occurred to him that he wasn't speaking in the past tense, but he couldn't make his tongue change the phrasing. "You were never supposed to stay permanently, but it's not your fault. That was just the situation. I'm just—I'm just not good at raising kids."

"You're good enough for me…" Arthur mumbled the words, and then he was chewing again, crocodile tears rolling down his flushed cheeks.

"Lip, Arthur."

Arthur didn't stop.

"Please, Arthur, you're going to hurt yourself."

"It doesn't matter. It's just my lip." He didn't look up. He didn't stop biting his lip.

He hadn't touched his tea. He hadn't made eye contact since before the trial. He couldn't keep his eyes dry. He couldn't smile, couldn't laugh, couldn't do anything but stare with glassy, dead eyes and try to get his head around the idea of being left alone _again._

Edgeworth struggled with his words for several moments, hands hovering midair as he tried to line up his thoughts. "Arthur… I just… I wouldn't know what to do. I don't… I might make a lot of mistakes. I mean, it's—it's a big responsibility. I—I wouldn't know how to handle your schooling, or all of the teenage drama, and…" He shook his head, running his hands through his hair.

 _Excuses,_ a harsh voice accused. _You're making excuses._

"What if you have questions I can't answer? What if I get it wrong?"

Arthur lifted his head just slightly, a flash of blue peeking out from behind his bangs. "Do you… do you love me, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth didn't know the answer. He knew he felt something for Arthur—and intense desire to protect, a warmth in his chest when they spent time together, pride at every little accomplishment—but he wasn't sure if that was the same as loving a child.

He was afraid to say he loved Arthur. How could he reconcile loving Arthur with letting him spend the rest of his childhood under anyone else's roof?

"I… I do love you, Arthur, but that doesn't mean I won't mess things up."

Arthur sniffed and dropped his head again. "When you love someone, the mistakes don't matter so much. I don't really… I don't really want anything else. I just…" He trailed off, shoulders quivering slightly. "I just wanna stay with you, Mr. Edgeworth. I don't—I don't wanna go. I don't…"

Edgeworth opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by a knock at the door. _Social services?_ He slowly got to his feet and approached the door, every step seeming to echo in the otherwise silent house. _They're early. We were supposed to have an hour._ It was like a death march. _It's only been twenty minutes or so. Arthur isn't ready. I'm not ready._

Edgeworth unlocked the door and greeted the woman on the other side, not quite able to manage a smile. "Come in," he said softly, stepping back to let her inside.

"Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth. My name is Sarah Cook, and I'm here to pick up Arthur Coleman."

Edgeworth swallowed hard and nodded, unable to get any words past his lips. He led her to the kitchen and crouched down beside Arthur's chair. He saw her come to a stop on the other side, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about her presence.

"Arthur, this woman is from social services." He had never been so disgusted by the taste of words on his tongue.

Smiling, the brunette with the clipboard waved a little, also crouching down. "Hi, Arthur. My name is Sarah. You're gonna come with me, and we're gonna visit some cool new places, okay?"

Arthur only looked at her, and then it was back to staring at his lap.

 _She's kind. Good with kids._ Edgeworth tried to comfort himself with the thought, but his conscience was having none of it. _You know social workers rarely spend time with the children they're assigned to. That's the nature of the job. You have no idea what kind of overseer he'll have in foster care._

Edgeworth cleared his throat, shaking himself slightly. "Uh, all of his things are in that box by the door. We, uh… we just have to say goodbye, and then he's all ready."

Sarah smiled and nodded, taking a few steps back to give them a little space. She was apparently good at reading people, too.

"Arthur." Edgeworth put a hand on Arthur's shoulder and gently pulled him closer. "Hey, give me a hug, alright? We need to say a proper goodbye."

Arthur slipped off the chair and half stumbled into Edgeworth's arms, hiding his face in the prosecutor's jacket. Edgeworth wrapped his arms around Arthur tightly, almost afraid he would break something if he hugged just a little harder. He could feel Arthur shaking, and he could hear the steady increase in tears, but he didn't know what he could do to make the child in his arms stop crying.

"Hey, listen to me." Edgeworth whispered the words in Arthur's ear, his own eyes beginning to burn. "You're going to go live with a nice family. You might get brothers and sisters, you know."

"I don't _want_ brothers and sisters." Arthur sobbed a few times, pushing his feet against the floor in an attempt to bury himself in Edgeworth's arms. "I want _you_."

Edgeworth sniffed and grit his teeth, a few tears escaping his eyes. "I know. I know, Arthur." He didn't know what else to say. He just kept rubbing Arthur's back and holding him tight. "I love you, Arthur. I do. I'm sorry I didn't answer right away."

That only made Arthur cry harder, though the sounds quickly dropped away to quiet whimpers. "Please, Mr. Edgeworth… please…"

Sarah stepped closer and held out her hand. "Arthur, sweetie, it's time to come with me. It'll be alright, you'll see." She smiled warmly, a cheerful note blended with the sympathy in her voice. "We have a lot of toys looking for a good friend back at the shelter. We can pick one out as soon as we get there. You'll make a lot of new friends, and Mrs. Davenport is a wonderfully sweet woman."

Arthur slowly extended a hand, but it was more a sign of surrender than acceptance. He maneuvered his feet beneath himself and tried to stand up.

But Edgeworth didn't let go.

"Sir, please, the longer this takes, the harder it will be on both of you."

Edgeworth shook his head slowly, one hand buried in Arthur's hair. "I can't."

"I'm sorry?"

He shook his head a little faster and tightened his hold. "I'm sorry. I can't." He sniffed again, feeling a brief, hot trail on his cheek. "I can't let him go."

Sarah blinked a few times, uncertainty thick in her voice. "You… want me to get you in touch with an adoption agency instead?"

Edgeworth nodded dumbly.

Arthur sniffled. "Mr. Edgeworth…?"

Edgeworth held on tighter still, thankful that he didn't have to look into Arthur's eyes. "I can't let you go. I just can't."

Edgeworth might have been known for his ability to plan, to live seven steps ahead of where he was, but he hadn't truly realized how much he needed Arthur until he was about to lose him. Suddenly, the _idea_ of a home without Arthur became the _reality_ of a home without Arthur, and Edgeworth hadn't been ready for that.

He wasn't ready for the last hug, the last cup of tea, the last car ride home, the last kiss goodnight, the last giggle, the last round of sound effects accompanied by a flying matchbox car.

He just wasn't ready. And he wasn't sure he ever would be.

"You said the mistakes don't matter much, right?" Edgeworth sniffed, dashing his tears away before returning the hand to Arthur's back.

Arthur pulled away and looked at Edgeworth's face, an even blend of fear and hope in his eyes. "You mean it? You'll keep me?"

Edgeworth nodded, sniffing again, and he let out a small laugh. "I have to."

Arthur hung his head and shrugged, utterly dejected. "No, you don't."

Edgeworth shook his head, smiling through his tears. "You misunderstand me, Arthur. I have to keep you here, not because it's my job or because of obligation, but because… I don't want to know what it will feel like to be here without you. I don't know what's going to happen next, with your mother or the baby or even you, but whatever happens, it'll happen to both of us."

Arthur drew closer again and curled up against Edgeworth's chest, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. "You mean that?"

Edgeworth sniffed and kissed the top of Arthur's head, rocking the boy slightly. "I do. I mean it. No objections." He shook his head and sniffed again, eyes wet but brighter than they had been since he heard the guilty verdict. "You're going to stay with me for as long as you want."

Arthur inhaled sharply. "Even if I want to stay forever?"

Edgeworth laughed. "Even if you want to stay forever."

Because as long a time as forever was, it still wouldn't be enough time to spend with the boy who had turned his world completely upside down in three days. Forever was never enough.

Not when it came to family.

And Arthur and Edgeworth were definitely family.

Case closed.

* * *

Author's Note: I wanted to address two reviews publicly, one because I couldn't reply and the other because I was hoping someone would pick up on my little easter egg!

AlyCat20 - Yes! 'It would be just like me to drop dead from a heart attack at twenty-six,' was a subtle reference to Turnabout of the Heart on my previous account. It's always nice when people catch things like this, and it's equally nice to have a fan who knows both of my accounts. Thank you for your review! I really appreciate it, and I'm glad you enjoyed the story.

Guest - First of all, you really gotta give me something to call you by. Second of all, thank you for your honesty! It shows me you're a discerning reader, only satisfied by quality work, and knowing you loved the story as a whole is made that much more encouraging by the fact that you called me on what I did wrong. Having said that, I kept your comments in mind while revising this chapter. I was unsure about the very things you listed to begin with, so I did have some more details sketched out that I tried to work into the final product. I know Alyssa being pregnant was unexpected and without foreshadowing, so I tried to expand the in-court deductions. It was difficult to do the pregnancy scenario because I wanted something that was impossible for Edgeworth to find out through his usual detecting methods. It made things a little more down to the wire and suspenseful, but is has its downsides. I tried to tip my hat to some of the crazier situations from the games (i.e. interrogating a literal bird), but it might just be that I tried a plot point that was too difficult for me to write. As for Edgeworth's sudden decision to adopt Arthur, there will be more on that in the next chapter. I did try to put more of his thought process into this chapter to show what prompted him to make that big leap, but, just like you said, it is still a huge decision. It deserves a lot of thought, and that's what it will get. I hope the revised chapter and the epilogue combined will give you a better feeling of satisfaction about how this story ended.

Additional Note: I am still not quite satisfied with Alyssa's reaction to being found out. That may be something that gets revised yet again in the coming days, so keep an eye out for that. All in all, thank you for your wonderful reviews, follows, and favorites, and I will have the epilogue out as soon as possible.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Quick reminder that the last chapter was revised and there are a couple notes at the bottom. This epilogue will probably be revised, and if there is anything you have questions about, I can try to work an answer into the revised epilogue. Thank you for reading Turnabout Family, and I hope you enjoyed. :)

* * *

"Let's see, what have I forgotten?"

Edgeworth ran his hands through his hair for the millionth time and looked around the joined kitchen and living room areas. It was modestly decorated with streamers and balloons, there was a vide variety of drinks and snacks on the counter, and the table was set for six. Three small presents sat at the head of the table with a card, and there was enough room for any presents the guests might bring.

"But I have to be forgetting something. I haven't been this prepared for an event since…"

Well, since before he was a father. It seemed there was never enough time or preparation or planning to be had when there was a child in the equation. His courtroom skills hadn't suffered at all—in fact, his steady acclimation to unpredictability improved them in some ways—but he never truly felt prepared. He had never had that trouble until he had a little boy, and all of a sudden, things just got pushed back more and more and _more_ every day. Even outside the courtroom, things just seemed to… _happen._ When your entire world revolved around two people instead of one, it made things quite complicated.

Edgeworth loved it. It wasn't in his nature, but he loved it nonetheless.

Edgeworth heard a key twist in the lock to the front door, and then Arthur appeared around the corner, dusting the snow out of his hair as he wiped his feet on the mat.

"Come on," Edgeworth urged, an eager lilt to his tone. "Show it to me. I want to see it."

Arthur grinned from ear to ear, reached into his jacket, and…

"Tada! Detective Inspector Arthur Edgeworth, at your service."

Edgeworth smiled even wider than Arthur, pulling the boy—no, the young man, twenty-three years of age—into his arms. "Arthur, it's fantastic. I'm so proud of you." He took the badge from Arthur's hand and looked it over, eyes wandering to the right-hand side of the leather sleeve. "Mind if I do a little detecting of my own?"

Arthur's face fell slightly, and he let out a soft sigh. "Yeah."

Edgeworth grabbed the paper folded up and stuffed into one half of the holder. He wasn't surprised to find a homemade birth certificate with the name Elisa Leah Edgeworth written across the middle.

He had printed that certificate more than ten years earlier.

"You're going to carry her with you?" Edgeworth asked softly, chancing a glance at Arthur's face. "I think she would appreciate that."

Arthur nodded slightly, eyes still downcast, and he held out his hand for the badge and paper. "I couldn't help her, but I can help other people as a detective."

Edgeworth pressed his lips into a thin line. "There was nothing either of us could do, Arthur." He paused for a moment, and then offered a very small smile. "You said you're going to the March for Life, didn't you? I'll go with you."

"Thanks, Dad." Arthur looked at the certificate for a moment or two, and then he quickly put it back with his badge and tucked it into his coat. He sniffed and forced a smile. "She would be thirteen if she… if she'd had the chance. She'd almost be in high school. Crazy about boys." He laughed, but there was a stiff sadness to it. "Driving you crazy."

Edgeworth smiled softly and pulled Arthur into another hug. "She would also be incredibly proud of her big brother, and she would want him to celebrate his special day."

Arthur didn't seem comforted by the words. "Mom was eight weeks pregnant when she… Elisa never got to open her eyes."

"Arthur—"

"She had eyes, Dad, but she never got to open them. Her heart was beating—giving off twenty percent of the energy an adult heart does! She had muscles and a skeleton and reflexes; she had little tiny teeth, and ears, and lips, and a nose; her organs were all there and they were working, they were forming blood cells and acids and…" Arthur slowed to a stop, the fight seeming to drain right out of him. "And Mom killed her. And I'm not allowed to say anything because it's not my body. It wasn't Mom's body either. It wasn't…" He glanced up at Edgeworth, laughed softly, and wiped the tears from his eyes. "You've heard all this before."

Edgeworth smiled softly, a brief twitch of the lips, and he put a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I don't mind listening. I wish we could have saved Elisa, too, and I know it's something that hurts you very deeply." He squeezed the joint in his hand. "You're allowed to be angry, Arthur, I just don't want that to be your focus. You can't save everyone."

Arthur nodded his head and wiped his eyes, but he kept his gaze downward. "I know."

"Do you?" Edgeworth arched a brow slightly. "You're a detective. You catch the bad guys, I'll prosecute them, and Uncle Phoenix will defend the innocent ones. We do what we can with the gifts we have." He took his son's face in his hands and gave him another smile. "We are human, and we need to be okay with that."

Arthur took a deep breath and slowly let it out, nodding his head. "Right. We do what we can." He rubbed his face and then shed his coat and scarf, hanging both up and kicking off his shoes. "Do you need any help setting things up?"

Edgeworth chuckled softly and shook his head. "I was just thinking that I'm more prepared for an event now than I have been in over a decade."

Arthur laughed and then sniffed, clearing away the last signs of tears and approaching the table. "Six plates? Is Franzy coming?"

Edgeworth shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Hopefully. With this dreadful winter weather, her flight was delayed, but she still intends to be here."

"Cool." Arthur smiled and nodded his head. "Did I get anything in the mail?"

"You got a postcard from the animal shelter. It seems two dogs and a cat are not enough. We simply must adopt more." Edgeworth glanced down as he spoke, half expecting one of the aforementioned animals to appear. "But I don't think Friska would be all too keen on the idea of any intruders in her territory. Oh! You also got a letter from your sponsored child in Nigeria."

"Awesome! I've been waiting to hear back from her." Arthur smiled and fell silent, looking around the room for a moment before looking at Edgeworth like a little boy on his birthday. "I can't believe I'm a detective."

"I can. I never doubted you for a second." Edgeworth grabbed the kettle from the stove and filled it with water, setting it back down on the burner. "We've got about an hour and a half before people start showing up. I really don't need help with anything, so if you want to go rest, you're more than welcome. I doubt you slept much last night."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and started up the stairs. "Yeah, I think I'll go lay down." He stopped halfway up and turned around with a grin. "But stalling won't save you. I can wait until after the party to beat you at chess."

Edgeworth laughed, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "I don't know what's funnier, you managing to stay awake after nine in the evening, or you thinking you can beat me, the Chess Master, at chess."

"Oh, it's on." Arthur laughed and continued up the stairs.

Edgeworth waited until Arthur disappeared, and then he returned to the kitchen, gathering a cup and a teabag to go with the water he was boiling.

 _I can't believe he's all grown up._

It seemed like mere weeks since Edgeworth had stood in that very kitchen and completely panicked. He remembered staying up all night, sitting at the table long after Arthur had gone to bed, frantically trying to figure out what he was supposed to do and how. Over the years, he had often stated that, in that moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of what it might be like to get pregnant in high school, out of wedlock, totally unprepared, and completely in over your head.

He had consumed twelve—and he did count them—cups of tea before the night was over, clacking away at his laptop, trying to figure out how he was supposed to… well… _raise a child._ He ordered over two hundred dollars' worth of books from discount websites, all of them on parenting and child psychology.

Edgeworth grabbed the kettle from the stove just before it began to whistle, and he poured the steaming water into his cup. He glanced to his right and smiled at the chalkboard still fastened to the wall.

He had decided on homeschooling Arthur without too much deliberation. Statistically speaking, it was the best way to educate children, and it worked well with his schedule. He never had to worry about picking Arthur up or dropping him off; never had to worry about when the bus went and where the stops were and so on. He simply took Arthur with him. He would work on cases, and Arthur would do his schoolwork, and they would pop across the street to have lunch and, on special days, ice cream cones.

Arthur loved it. Edgeworth loved it. It worked out perfectly.

Arthur wanted to learn to play the guitar, so Edgeworth found a music studio two blocks away from the courthouse and paid for lessons. Phoenix, Maya, and even Gumshoe regularly chipped in to help with transportation or supervision when Edgeworth couldn't make the schedule work. There were even times when Phoenix would show up at the door with tickets to a museum and happily announce he was taking his nephew on a field trip for school.

Phoenix loved using the school excuse to take Arthur anywhere.

Which was fine, because Arthur loved to travel. And they travelled. Oh, did they travel.

Of course, Edgeworth took Arthur to Germany to meet Franziska. She had taken to him immediately, much more than Edgeworth thought she would, and it became mandatory to visit with each other at least twice a year. Often when they would visit, they would catch a train or simply drive around Europe, exploring any little thing that captured Arthur's interest without any real destination in mind. Driving across the country was another form of travel, and they used essentially the same, wandering method.

Somewhere in all the busy days, cluttered schedules, and easy-going Sunday afternoons, Edgeworth had learned how to be a father. It hit him, sometimes, that he didn't know exactly when he stopped panicking about his role. He remembered the first night clearly, and in the weeks that followed—finding doctors, a dentist, financial and legal records—he was certain the fear held on.

But then Arthur would smile.

Arthur would smile at him, and it was like nothing else mattered. No matter what happened, no matter how hard it was, Edgeworth would do anything to see that smile again. He would take the fear, the doubt, the stress, the sleepless nights, the arguments, the responsibility, the pain, the tears—all of it. He would take it all if he got to see Arthur's smile. If he got to laugh with him. If he got to lay on the couch with a book and have Arthur fall asleep on his chest. If he got to experience one more Christmas, one more Halloween, one more birth—

Edgeworth nearly dropped his cup. "I forgot to pick up the cake!"

Laughter floated down from the upper level, and Edgeworth cast a scathing glare toward the steps as he rushed to put on his coat and gloves.

"Keep that up, and you aren't getting any cake!" he hollered.

"Objection! That would classify as cruel and unusual punishment. That's illegal."

Edgeworth went halfway up the stairs so he could hear better. "Objection! One could argue that, given the unhealthy nature of the food in question, it would be cruel and unusual punishment to do anything _but_ withhold cake."

"Objection! You love me too much to do that to me."

Edgeworth stopped, smiled, and closed the short distance between himself and Arthur's bedroom door. "The prosecution rests."

Arthur laughed from inside. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"No, it certainly wouldn't." Edgeworth opened the door a crack and poked his head in, smiling when he saw Arthur sprawled out under a mountain of blankets.

He stared, and he remembered. He remembered so many things just by looking at Arthur, just by looking at his room.

He remembered concussion number two. He remembered watching the same movie ten times in a row. He remembered being unable to get Disney songs out of his head. He remembered burying Pess. He remembered bringing home a puppy. He remembered talking Arthur out of naming her Blackie Two. He remembered trips to the beach. He remembered the park. He remembered painting Arthur's bedroom, and then repainting it when he decided he was too old for the color scheme. He remembered Arthur's first broken heart. He remembered the slumber parties.

He remembered _everything._

"Dad?"

Edgeworth smiled, vaguely aware his eyes were damp. "I love you, Arthur. You do know that, don't you?"

Arthur rolled over and sat up in bed, laughing softly. "Yes, Dad, I know. You tell me every day."

Edgeworth pursed his lips and shrugged. "Saying something every day doesn't make it true. Do you _know_ I love you?"

Arthur smiled, taking a moment to simply look at his father before replying. "Yes, I know. Your evidence is all in order, and you have proven beyond reasonable doubt that you love me." He tilted his head slightly, somehow able to pull off the same, lopsided grin he did as a child. "What about me? How's my case looking?"

Edgeworth smiled warmly, a dull and somehow pleasant ache throbbing in his chest. "It's exemplary, Arthur."

"No objections?" Arthur raised a brow.

Edgeworth laughed and rolled his eyes. "No objections."

Arthur laid back down and covered up with his blankets once more. "You don't have to get the cake if you don't want to. It's pretty miserable out there."

"I don't mind. Just keep your cell phone on you in case I get stuck somewhere."

Arthur gave a thumbs up and then pulled his arm back into the warmth.

Edgeworth smiled and shook his head, closing the door and walking back down to the foyer. He put on his boots and put a hat on his head, grabbing his keys and taking a final look around before stepping out.

 _Well, Dad… I know I didn't become a defense attorney like you, but I tried to be a good father like you. I hope I made you proud._

Edgeworth glanced back at the house and then started down the steps, smiling softly to himself.

If his father could see him and feel half the pride Edgeworth felt when he looked at Arthur, that would be enough.

It would be more than enough.

 _fin._


End file.
